Posted on 15 October 2025

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The Before and After

I spent my life working.

I joined the Army at sixteen, and for more than thirty-four years I prided myself on discipline, resilience, and the ability to keep pushing through. Even with a diagnosis of combat-related PTSD and fibromyalgia, I refused to slow down. I turned fifty in 2023—still working, still fighting, still standing.

Then, in October 2023, I collapsed at home.

That single event didn’t just end my working life; it marked the beginning of an eleven-month nightmare that shattered my identity, fractured my body, and left me questioning everything I thought I knew about myself—particularly my masculinity and my role as a father to three young children.

The hospital’s initial diagnosis was Functional Neurological Disorder (FND)—a terrifying condition directly linked to trauma and my long-term PTSD. But during the investigations, a brain scan revealed something unexpected: a brain aneurysm. The doctors at Addenbrooke’s deemed it stable, requiring only monitoring.

Three months later, the aneurysm ruptured.

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The Catastrophe: Subarachnoid Haemorrhage and the Aftermath

The subarachnoid haemorrhage (SAH) nearly killed me. What followed wasn’t just survival—it was a complete demolition of life as I knew it.

Between the FND and the brain bleed, I was left with a devastating list of disabilities:

• Sensory Loss: Significant hearing loss in both ears and permanent blindness in my left eye.
• Physical Symptoms: Inability to walk, relentless tinnitus and dizziness, severe muscle spasms, tremors, involuntary movements, and functional seizures.
• The Unseen Damage: Profound cognitive issues and the loss of more than fourteen years of memories.

For eleven months, I was an inpatient—bouncing between hospitals and a neurological rehabilitation centre. I was finally discharged in September 2024, not because I was fully recovered, but because there was nothing more the system could offer.

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The Scar of Identity: Masculinity and Memory

Losing over a decade of memories is like having the foundations of your house ripped away. You can still see the structure, but everything that gave it meaning has gone. I lost shared history with my family, the context of my adult life, and, in many ways, the continuity of who I was.

As a veteran and as a man who had always equated strength with physical ability, the loss of control over my body triggered a profound identity crisis.

Who am I if I can no longer walk?
What kind of father can I be when I rely on others for basic tasks?
How do I reconcile the gaps in my memory—the missing pieces where my children’s early years should be?

This isn’t just about physical loss—it’s about the erosion of self.

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Thrown on the Scrap Heap: The Fight for Support

The hardest part of this journey wasn’t the surgery—it was what came after.

Following eleven months of intensive, life-saving care, I was effectively discarded at fifty-three. The NHS response was blunt: “There’s nothing more we can do.”

Social services provided a minimal care plan and a carer, but no structured neurological or cognitive rehabilitation. No pathway to regain independence. No roadmap for life after discharge.

I’m a father to three children—aged ten, six, and two. Without proper medical and social support, every day is a battle to remain present and purposeful in their lives. The system may have written me off, but I haven’t surrendered. My recovery—and my fatherhood—are far from over.

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Why This Blog? A New Mission Statement

This blog is my new mission.

It’s a space to:

• Advocate: To expose the catastrophic lack of long-term support for people with FND and complex brain injuries in the UK.
• Validate: To give voice to veterans and men grappling with disability, identity, and the crisis of fatherhood.
• Reclaim: To document my ongoing fight to rebuild—cognitively, physically, and emotionally—one difficult day at a time.

If you’re a veteran, a parent living with complex disability, or someone navigating the wreckage of life after a medical catastrophe, know this: you are not alone.

Join me as I chart this new and unexpected life—one that may be broken in parts, but not defeated.

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Build the Frontline

The system wrote me off, but I refuse to surrender. The fight for long-term care and recognition for veterans with complex brain injuries starts here.

If you stand with me—if you’re a veteran, a parent, or someone fighting a life-altering battle—join the community where the day-to-day struggle and the ongoing advocacy happen.

Join the conversation on Facebook: facebook.com/share/19mUPUXa6o/

Follow for updates and stories on X (Twitter): @Dusty1Wentworth

Witness the rebuild, one difficult day at a time, on Instagram: instagram.com/wentworthdusty