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...

Two years ago, my life changed in an instant. I had no idea that one ordinary morning would mark the beginning of a journey that would test every part of who I am. October 23rd, 2023 — a date that changed my life forever. It began like any other day, until suddenly it wasn’t. I collapsed without warning at home. When the ambulance arrived, stroke was ruled out, but that was only the beginning of what would become a long and life-altering journey. Doctors didn’t think I’d survive. Yet somehow, I did. ‎ The Eleven-Month Inpatient Battle What followed were eleven long months as an inpatient — three different hospitals, two stints at a Neurological Rehabilitation Centre, and countless challenges along the way. I was fighting battles not only for my health, but for my identity, my independence, and ultimately, my future. Those months were some of the hardest of my life. Every day brought new challenges: learning to move again, to speak clearly, to remember, to rebuild. The neuro...