Dusty Wentworth

The New Year is quietly under way. It is Saturday 3 January 2026, and as I write this, snow is falling steadily outside my window. It is one of those calm, unmistakably beautiful moments that winter sometimes offers. I am thankful that I have nowhere I need to be today. Snow and wheelchairs do not mix well, and what appears peaceful from indoors can very quickly become dangerous outside. This stillness feels symbolic. With the turning of the year has come a change in how I view my life. This is not because circumstances have suddenly become easy, but because something fundamental has shifted. For the first time in a long while, I am not simply surviving. I am beginning to look forward. That shift has been slow, hard-won, and costly. From collapse to survival My journey over the past few years began in October 2023 when I collapsed at home. What followed was not a single event but an extended fight to stay alive. I spent eleven months moving between hospital wards and a spec...

Have you ever tried to piece together your past, only to find that half the puzzle pieces have vanished? It’s a strange thing, memory. We take it for granted until it’s gone. We assume it’s always going to be there for us – like a loyal dog, wagging its tail at the mention of a familiar face or beloved place. But what happens when that loyal companion simply… doesn’t come back? This isn’t some thought experiment or hypothetical musing over coffee. This is my reality. And, perhaps, it might be yours too – or someone you love. I lost a significant portion of my memory following a ruptured brain aneurysm and a subsequent subarachnoid haemorrhage. The man I was, in many ways, disappeared that day. I thought, at first, I could just soldier on (I was good at that once) and start afresh. New memories. New me. Sorted, right? Not quite. Because memories aren’t just about the past. They’re the blueprint of who we are. And when that blueprint gets torn up, you can’t help b...