Dusty Wentworth

A family day out to Lowestoft: masculinity, memory, disability, and sugar-fuelled mayhem. ☕ Morning Mayhem, Meds, and Mobilisation We woke to the unmistakable clatter of the bin men — too late for the garden waste, again. That sort of domestic defeat where you just sigh into your slippers and accept it. Coffee became the consolation prize. While the kettle hissed, I began my usual breakfast — 14 tablets, swallowed one by one in silence. Not exactly a fry-up, but my body has its own checklist before the rest of me is allowed to function. Still half-asleep, I cradled my coffee like a shield while the kids launched their morning offensive: Can we get chips? Are we having ice cream? Can we paddle? Their enthusiasm came in rapid bursts — relentless, chaotic, but hilarious. I negotiated a ceasefire long enough to pack the car. The power chair made the cut today — the manual’s fine when I’m steady, but energy is a currency I need to spend wisely. With snacks, sun cream, and a heal...

✍️ Reframing Limitations I didn’t choose tactical living. It was either that, or collapse. Two weeks after regaining consciousness from brain surgery, I knew life would never return to what it was. I’d survived a subarachnoid haemorrhage — the result of a ruptured brain aneurysm — and the aftermath was brutal. I couldn’t walk. I’d lost sight in my left eye, most of my hearing, and my speech was compromised. My memory was fractured, my cognition unpredictable. And layered beneath it all was combat-related PTSD, tangled with Fibromyalgia and Functional Neurological Disorder — each diagnosis amplifying the next. The effects were extreme. And if I was going to stand any chance of rebuilding a life, I had to do things differently. This blog isn’t about resilience in the glossy, inspirational sense. It’s about tactical living — the kind that emerges when survival demands strategy. It’s about designing systems that honour limitations, protect energy, and make space for meaning. Be...