Never Broken

by Hannah Campbell

  I was really anxious about speaking to the team at Headley Court as I was still serving and I needed permission to go ahead with the operation. I feared Army bureaucracy would stop me. To my surprise, they were very supportive and they gave me the green light as they recognised without it I’d struggle to ever walk anything other than very short distances. I had a break coming up in December 2011 for Christmas, so I booked myself in to have keyhole surgery. I used some more of my Army compensation money and it really was a no-brainer, the best cash I ever spent.

  Mr Sommers bypassed part of my small intestine, which absorbs all the fats, sugars and nutrients you consume, then he stapled my stomach so that the only part that’s useable is an area roughly the size of your thumb. You shed the fat in three ways. First, you have a tiny stomach, so physically you can’t eat as much; you also have something called ‘malabsorption’, which means your body doesn’t absorb the fats any more. Finally, if you try to cheat, you get something called ‘Dumping syndrome’, where because the part of the bowel that normally absorbs sugar is gone, the new bit of bowel absorbs sugars straight into your bloodstream and it overloads your system. This causes you to vomit, suffer dizziness and you foam at the mouth if you eat anything high in fat or high in sugar. Dumping syndrome is so unpleasant that it’s like a cognitive therapy – it retrains your brain so it knows that if you put that chocolate bar in your mouth you’re going to be sick. That means you don’t eat as much, you don’t absorb as much into your body and it helps with how you deal with food mentally.

  I never experienced any problems because I was so motivated to lose weight, I didn’t cheat and gorge myself on food, and post-surgery I had no complications. In fact, I healed really quickly and was up and walking the same day. The following day, I went home and the three incisions, one in my belly button and one each side of it, healed within a week. I was highly motivated and I didn’t want to cheat, as I so desperately wanted to get thin. Instead of gorging on six bags of crisps a day, initially I had toddler-sized portions of mashed food before moving up to three small, normal healthy meals: Weetabix for breakfast, a sandwich of something like tuna salad for lunch and fish or meat with vegetables for dinner, and I’d still have the odd treat, like a packet of hula hoops.

  The weight loss was so rapid that after six weeks I stopped weighing myself as there was no point in me getting on the scales. Within days, I knew I’d be lighter again. Jamie was so happy for me as he could see my mood lifting and my confidence slowly starting to come back. For him it was like he was getting the old me back and he couldn’t have been happier. Now the pressure was off and all I wanted to do was get to a stage where I was happy with myself. Within three months I’d lost four stone, the junk food replaced by healthy homemade soups and salads from Marks & Spencer. I cut out bread and instead ate rice and quinoa and I got down to a size 16. At that milestone I decided then to bin all of my fattest clothes as I knew I would never, ever need them again. Pulling out the size 18s, 20s, 22s and 24s was cathartic and fantastic all rolled into one. It was my way of saying goodbye to the person I didn’t want to be.

  I kept one pair of size 24 trousers to remind me of how fat I was, which are still in my loft. Nikki and I found them recently and when we tried them on, she could stand in one trouser leg and I could stand in the other. I only suffered from Dumping syndrome once, which was caused by a cereal with a higher sugar content than I expected, and it made me violently sick. A year after surgery I also tried one square of chocolate and I felt ill again, so that took the temptation away. Dumping syndrome stops after three or four years as your body adjusts but it’s done such a good job on me that it cracked my addiction to junk food. Where I used to eat three chocolate bars a day, now I’m happy with one chocolate bar a week. To me, putting two chocolate bars in my mouth isn’t worth getting fat again. Feeling confident and good about myself is what motivates me now. Today I take multivitamins due to my malabsorption to ensure I get the nutrients I need and I still have a smaller stomach so I can’t eat as much as other people, but that’s a small price to pay.

  Surgeons normally anticipate patients will lose a stone a month, but my weight loss was kick-started as I was doing such intensive physio at Headley Court. It was like having the best-ever private trainer to get you into shape. This also meant I continued to get my independence back and, in turn, I started to feel better about myself. When I made it to a size 14 I went out and blew £250 on a pair of True Religion jeans. When I stood in front of the mirror I saw they fitted me perfectly. I’d never spent that much on jeans before but I wanted to treat myself to something other than food.

  Within ten months I’d lost an astonishing amount of weight: eleven stone, and I’d got down to a size 12. Buoyed with newfound confidence I decided to sit my driving test at Headley. I’d never sat my test before as I hadn’t got round to taking driving lessons, so this was a bit deal for me, but I was determined to have the freedom of being able to drive and go where I wanted, whenever I wanted. A lot of the lads splashed out on amazing cars when their compensation money came through – Porsches, BMWs – and many had personalised number plates. There was probably even a bit of competition over who had the best wheels. I thought: ‘Fuck it, I want to be able to drive so I don’t have to be dependent on anyone else to take me around!’ As it’s my left leg that has been removed, it actually wasn’t that difficult for me to learn to drive as you do all the changing of brakes and stuff with your right. I blew an absolute fortune on a convertible Audi, spending more than £20,000 of my compensation money. With hindsight that was ridiculous. At the time it seemed worth every penny as I had so much fun with it and I really enjoyed the freedom of being able to razz around on my own. It was the first time in what seemed like forever I could be on my own and not need a carer with me. I was in charge of my own destiny again.

  It may sound corny but I was literally getting back in the driving seat of my own life. Every day I would go out in the car and just drive around with the roof down, if the weather was good, and for the first time in absolutely years I felt free and like a weight was lifting from my shoulders. My hair was still coming back in patches at the time, so I wore a wig and I used to wear a bright headscarf to pin it down with. But one day I was tearing along the M25 with the roof down and my music blaring and my wig flew off, never to be seen again. I had to get off at a service station in order to find something to cover myself with. Flustered, I rung Jamie and told him my wig was now somewhere on the hard shoulder, or perhaps it had even hit someone’s windscreen like a mysterious piece of roadkill! He just burst out laughing, as the scene in his mind’s eye was so comedic. Thankfully, I always kept a spare wig in the car as I used to think you never know when you might need it, although I’d didn’t expect it to disappear in quite such spectacular fashion.

  Even being able to laugh at myself was such a big deal as it meant I was getting the old me back. If that had happened, even a few months before, it would have crushed me but now I was feeling so much more positive I could see the situation for what it was – a funny one! It was like I’d been reborn and nothing and no one would stop me from doing anything. I was free and I was going to enjoy every single second of life from there on in.

  Too much of anything is bad for you, however, and at this time I went into a kind of overdrive and I went off the rails. Once I’d put Milly to bed I’d go out drinking and clubbing with the girls, desperate to make up for lost time, leaving Jamie to babysit. I was being selfish but it was only because I’d put so much of my life on hold for so long that I was reliving the youth I’d lost. Burning the candle at both ends led to cracks appearing in my marriage as I wasn’t devoting nearly enough time, or energy, to our relationship. I wanted to go out partying with old friends, get smashed and have a laugh – it was never about other men. I just wanted to let my hair down and be the old Hannah again. The flip side to this was that Jamie was spending more and more time at home on his own or working, as he was still serving with the REME, whil
e I lived it up. Over a period of a few months it became obvious we were beginning to lead separate lives. Our sex life became virtually non-existent and instead of him being my carer, our relationship became more and more like a loving brother and sister. The passion had just gone out of it after everything we’d been through.

  I think that period was really hard for Jamie for although I was still living in the same house and still his wife, I had all but left him. I felt I had so much catching up to do: I’d cheated death twice and it was my time to be reborn. It felt like up till then life had got it in for me and had pretty much turned into the film Final Destination, in which everyone is being haunted by death and they have to keep on running from it. Determined I was going to keep running, I planned to enjoy every second of what was left. I felt I could die any day so I was determined to go out with a bang.

  Obsessed by that fact, I wanted Milly to have lots of experiences with me so she’d have happy memories. I splashed out on holidays to the Caribbean three times, a thermal spa in Slovakia, then a five-star trip to Turkey. It sounds insane but I just felt we had missed out on so much together as mum and daughter that I wanted to give her a bank of good experiences with me. As we lay on the latest beach I’d say to Jamie: ‘If I die then I want Milly to have known me fit and well as I am now – not think of me as sick and unhappy in a wheelchair.’ Jamie’s response was: ‘I’ll always support your choices Hannah,’ and he always did.

  Despite jetting about to all these amazing destinations, all the while the cracks were getting wider in my marriage. It was a cruel twist of fate, really. Just as I felt like the past was slowly becoming the past and I was beginning to forge a healthy mother-and-daughter bond with Milly, my relationship with Jamie was being torn apart. Doing the simplest things like reading a book together or having an ice cream on the beach take on a whole level of new meaning when you think that maybe you shouldn’t have been there or this might be the last time you do it. But in addition to that, there is nothing more liberating than living life exactly in the moment and that’s what I was doing. I wanted Milly to be cultured and I wanted her to have been to the theatre. I wanted her to have experienced all of that stuff, so that’s what I did – I packed in everything I possibly could.

  After about six months I finally calmed down and started getting back to everyday life. I stopped going out all the time, but by then the damage between Jamie and me had been done. We didn’t argue at all but we had grown so far apart by then that often we’d sit in different rooms, even to watch TV. Jamie had become my mate and nothing more. We still chatted, but as friends. There wasn’t that spark between us anymore that makes something turn from a friendship into a relationship. In my heart I knew it was over and I think he did too.

  So one night I sat him down and said I thought I’d better have this conversation with him. We had been sitting watching something nondescript on the TV and Milly was in bed and I said: ‘I can’t go on like this, I want more.’

  Initially he said to me: ‘I can give you more. Let’s just try it as I don’t want it to end.’ There were no tears or raised voices or hysterics. We were both calm and despite what he said, I think he knew in his heart that it was over as well. I just left it that night and it sounds bizarre but we went back to watching TV. We actually muddled on after this for a few weeks as we were and didn’t bring it up again, but it was the elephant in the room. Once I had actually verbalised it to Jamie, I knew there was no going back.

  Jamie spoke to my mum during this time and told her what had happened and he was really upset about it. He admitted to her, ‘I can’t give her what she wants.’ Mum never told me until years later. She and dad always loved Jamie; they are still in touch, and that was between them. I brought it up again and got him to admit that we had both begun to see each other as friends. I don’t think either of us could get over everything that had happened if we were being truly honest with ourselves. While we loved and deeply respected each other, we weren’t in love any more. Once that had been said we both knew there was no going back as there was nothing to go back to. It was ridiculously amicable, though, as we both still loved each other as friends; we’d been through so much that it puts your entire life in perspective, and, of course, we had Milly to think about.

  We’d already booked a holiday with Milly and Jamie’s daughter, who is Milly’s half-sister, Laura, to the Turks and Caicos for Christmas 2011. Our marriage was over, but we decided we’d still go on holiday as a family with the kids. It was absolutely lovely; we carried on as normal but it was purely platonic. We’d go to the beach, go swimming and do everything as though we were a normal family. We had a family room and even shared a bed but that was our final holiday. We didn’t tell the girls and they had no idea, so it was a happy holiday and a nice way to say goodbye to our marriage.

  We faced it head-on in the New Year after we got back. Jamie continued to live in our home for a while as he was waiting for his new Army quarters to be ready at the start of February 2012. It wasn’t a wrench for Milly as he was only two streets away and we could see his house from the back garden. He still came round to dinner, so we had a very civilised break-up. Often he’d come round to put Milly to bed – if not, he’d wave to her from his window at bedtime.

  Right to the last he was a good husband. Things had just run their course and I will never know if what happened to me made a difference or if it would have ended anyway. We were very happy before my accident and I loved him so much when we got married, but it was one of those things. People grow apart and neither of us ever looked back. He is still an amazing father and without him and our relationship I would never have had our beautiful little daughter and I will always thank him for that.

  Since our break-up we’ve bickered over little things, which is why we are exes. We always come out the other side and things go back to being fine, but we’ve had our moments – which are always minor disagreements over things like whether Milly should have the latest toy, as neither of us wants to spoil her.

  Jamie went on to meet Vicki, who is an extremely good step-mum to Milly, taking her out on girly days, helping her with make-up and supporting her. We all try our best to co-parent Milly, which is what is important, and we get along. As time has passed Jamie and I are no longer best friends, but we share a deep respect for one another and always will.

  As well as starting anew as a single woman, rebuilding myself physically became a priority over this time. As an amputee you need to have a variety of legs in order to perform the everyday tasks that bipeds (people with two legs) take for granted, and knowing I was going to be single again, making sure I had all the tools to enable me to live independently became a priority. So in the bottom of my wardrobe, neatly stacked under the clothes rail, instead of shoes, I have legs. Five, to be exact – so I’m the six-legged lady!

  At Headley the first leg I was given was my ‘everyday’ leg, which is titanium with a shock-absorbing foot. While it’s not the prettiest leg in the world, it’s functional and great for running about every day, shopping and doing the school run. It’s my ‘workhorse’ leg and the one I wear most often. My ‘everyday’ leg is the one that got me back on my feet again, but once I was walking I longed to be able to wear high-heeled shoes. Even though I was still in the early stages of my prosthetics I was given a prosthetic with an adjustable heel, which meant with the click of a switch I could move the position of the foot into an angle to fit the shoe I wanted to wear. For the first time in years I was able to slip on a pair of high heels. It sounds such a simple thing but to me it was life transforming. All I’d dreamed of since getting injured was getting back into my heels and this leg meant I would be able to make it a reality.

  While spiky Louboutins were still a no-no, I remember the first pair of heeled shoes I bought. I’d only had the leg a few days and I was desperate to get to Russell & Bromley. I remember walking into the shop with Nikki and thinking, ‘Oh, my God, I can buy something from here and actually wear it!’ I picked u
p lots of high heels but finally settled on a pair of sexy black wedges as I needed some heel to give me support, since I have no sensation from the amputation onwards. I didn’t even try them on because I was scared that they wouldn’t fit or I’d fall over and make a fool of myself in front of the shoppers and staff.

  As soon as I had paid we went straight back to the car and raced back to mine so I could try them on. Nikki started laughing as I literally ripped them out of the box in my lounge, clicked the switch on my prosthetic and slipped them on. I was close to tears when I looked down and saw my feet in a beautiful pair of heels. Even though a relatively small wedge, to me they seemed like the highest of stilettos. For the first few minutes I was a bit like Bambi, but once I’d got into the swing of it I could walk without any struggle at all. I had a full-length mirror in my hallway and I walked over to it and just stared at my feet, laughing for a couple of minutes. Finally I was in heels and I couldn’t believe it.

  Now of course it seems almost funny the way in which I bought this first pair of heeled shoes so quickly and surreptitiously as I didn’t want anyone to know I was an amputee. Now I’m so confident I would think nothing of striding into any shoe shop with one of my false legs in my bag, whipping it out and trying the shoes on it. And while I’m no Imelda Marcos, I’ve got some great shoes, including Russell & Bromley over-the-knee boots, a pair of Vivienne Westwood heels… more pairs than I care to mention.

  But when the world of high-heeled shoes opened up to me, it also meant I had to practise other things. One of the biggest were escalators in shopping centres. This was a massive deal as I was terrified I’d put my false foot down and the escalator would take it off and leave me doing the splits. It sounds really silly but I was so worried that my occupational therapist took me out in Epsom and we rode up and down the escalators. When I stood at the top for the first time I was shaking with fear but after I’d done it once I was fine. The funny thing is no one really bats an eyelid about it either. I think because I’ve accepted who I am and give off a positive vibe about it then so too does everyone else.