Never Broken

by Hannah Campbell

  As a treat, and as all my old stuff was decaying in a drawer, I decided to have a makeover. I went into my local MAC make-up store and told them I was feeling dowdy and needed a complete overhaul and a new look. I didn’t mention a word about why, as for once I just wanted to be like anyone else. In the end I splashed out more than £300 on make-up. I felt fabulous and looked it too. It sounds like a lot of money, and it is a lot, but for me it was priceless as it represented yet another part of starting to love and take care of myself again.

  In my mind I knew, as I would probably leave the Army in the not-too-distant future, I was going to have to think about what to do with my life next. I’d always loved having and giving beauty treatments. Even in Iraq I never skimped on pamper nights. So it seemed natural to me that I should think about pursuing this as a career – although swapping machine guns for nail guns would be quite a lifestyle change! Facing a future potentially without the Army was such a lot for me to take on board, but I knew I had to consider what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

  For me the real light-bulb moment came a few weeks after my MAC makeover when I went to a local beautician near me. I’d always loved having false eyelashes and I was mucking around on Twitter one night when I saw one of the girls from the cast of TOWIE had these fantastic long new lashes. So I googled to see where I could have them done and I found a place near me. I booked an appointment and the lovely beautician who applied my lashes asked if I’d like to have my nails done. We got chatting while I had a full manicure – I hadn’t had my nails done since I’d ripped them all off in the rubble, so at first I apologised for how unkempt they were.

  When she laughed and said: ‘Don’t be silly, I’ve seen far worse,’ we started gossiping and then I started to tell her what had happened to me. I told her about the day my life had changed, I told her about being buried in the rubble and how my entire world had been torn apart. Then I told her that I had a prosthetic leg. She asked me to show it to her and she was amazed that even though it was quite a basic model, it did have little toes and nails on it. I admitted that the only reason I hated it was because since the blast I hadn’t been able to wear any sandals.

  Without missing a beat she said: ‘Why not? Why don’t you just paint your prosthetic toes?’

  I then asked: ‘Please will you do it for me?’ It was the first time I had asked anyone who was a virtual stranger to me to do anything intimate that involved my prosthetic, but I felt so relaxed in there and she was so marvellous that it seemed a natural question to ask. When I left the salon I felt amazing, even though the reality was I’d just had a lick of bright pink varnish on my nails and my eyelashes done. I thought: ‘I’d like to help other women feel good about themselves.’ So the idea for a future career as a beautician was born.

  I spent the next few days researching online what qualifications I would need to train and then set about applying to my local college for them. I had a few thousand pounds saved up to pay for the courses. Within a few months I’d begun training in my spare time. First it was massage, then false eyelashes and then a course on HD brows: basically anything and everything it would take me to become a fully qualified beautician. I must have been one of the college’s keenest pupils. I loved going there and roping in all my mates as guinea pigs for treatments. Even my poor mum was getting every treatment under the sun, from waxing to brows! The minute I got one qualification, I was on to getting the next.

  As well as my training I was still getting my own beauty treatments done at my local salon. One of the biggest moments was when I decided to go and get my first pair of flat sandals and afterwards, with them still in a shoebox, I went down and had a manicure with my ‘good’ foot and while it dried, my prosthetic leg had ruby red nails painted on, too. Then I walked out of the salon with my new open-toed shoes on. It was such a small thing, but to be able to go out and have matching feet for the first time in years felt like yet another milestone had been ticked off.

  I forged an amazing bond with my beauty therapist, who really helped me to get my confidence back, so much so that she suggested we should go into business together. I thought: ‘Why not?’ as it seemed like a natural progression for me. We went as far as getting a business plan together and later, we set up a limited company, but I began to get second thoughts as I was worried that I was taking too much on at such an early stage in both my rehabilitation and my beauty training. I couldn’t rid myself of the little niggling doubt that maybe this wasn’t right for me as I was trying to do too much too soon. After all, I had so many huge decisions to make about my life. I’d overcome so much in such a short time; I’d never run a business before but knew it was going to take a lot of my time and I was just beginning to rebuild not only myself but also my relationship with Milly. The truth is my overriding priority was to be there for her and to make up for all the years of time we lost. After a few weeks of soul-searching I decided I couldn’t go on with the business because my family had to come first. I went to the salon to tell my friend and we agreed that as the timing wasn’t right for me we would put everything on hold.

  Worrying about what I should do with my career and my future did have a small silver lining. The last few pounds of the weight I’d gained when I was ill finally dropped off and I was now back to the size I was in the Army before the blast. People kept saying how well I looked and I knew that the waistbands on the clothes I’d bought as I’d got thinner were getting looser and looser, and they were even beginning to swamp my frame. I knew it was time to measure myself and think about smartening up my appearance.

  One night I took the tape measure out and I was astounded when I measured myself and my waist was only 27 inches. I’d finally got down to a size 10 from a 24. It was the final milestone. I was ecstatic and I thought: ‘Right, the time has come to get back out there and start socialising properly again with my girlfriends and having a laugh.’ I’d missed out on so much of that. I used to love a girlie night out and having a drink and a dance but for years I’d had to shut that entire part of my life and my personality down. It was like I’d pressed pause and now it was time to push the play button again.

  Around that time I thought I needed to start thinking seriously about getting a decent wardrobe of clothes again as I’d now reached my target size. I decided, along with some gentle persuasion from Nikki, I couldn’t go out on my first proper Saturday night with girls in my baggy tracksuit bottoms and a jumper, so I went on a little shopping spree in my local department store. It was strange looking at some of the little dresses and tops and actually thinking I could wear that and I don’t need to hide my body away anymore.

  I was still unsure of myself so I took Nikki along to give me some confidence. She was brilliant and really encouraged me to go for it. I played it safe and picked out a lovely black dress which went to my knees and a pair of matching low black heels. I didn’t even try them on in the shop – I still felt self-conscious about going into changing rooms in case they were communal and I had to show my body off to other women. Even though I looked great, in my head there was still this little voice telling me I didn’t.

  When we got back to mine later that afternoon we opened a bottle of wine and spent the next few hours getting ready. I went the whole hog with a fake tan and false eyelashes. When I put on my dress and shoes and stood in front of the mirror I barely recognised myself. For a moment I stood there in silence and Nikki just kept saying: ‘Oh, my God, Hannah, you look amazing!’ and for the first time since everything that had happened I actually felt it. I just kept running my hands up and down the side of my dress – I couldn’t believe how good I looked.

  By the time we made our way out that night, my confidence boosted by a glass of white wine, I was buzzing. It was like my first nights out as a teenager. Even though we were only going out to a few of the local bars, to me it was such a big step. It was like being given VIP access to the biggest, best nightclub in the world. I’ll never forget walking into the first bar, as for the first
time in years I actually strode in with a bit of confidence. I was aware of a few men looking at me as I walked up to the bar to buy us both a drink.

  One handsome young guy smiled over at me and then moved beside me in the queue. His chat was really friendly, just the basic stuff like: ‘Who was I out with?’ and ‘Where were we going to be going later on?’ I pointed out Nikki and a few of our other friends then he offered to buy us all a drink. I just laughed and said we’d be getting our own. As I walked back from the bar to my friends it dawned on me that speaking to a handsome stranger at a bar wasn’t something that had happened to me in a very long time. I had lost so much of my confidence due to the weight gain that as I hadn’t liked myself in any way I’d found it incredible that anyone else would. In my head I was still that invisible, fat person. I realised that night that the reality was very different and men were finding me very attractive.

  That fleeting conversation with the good-looking stranger changed everything; it changed my entire perception of myself. From then on my confidence just started to grow and grow. Jamie would have Milly alternate weekends and when I had my time on my own, I loved my girly nights out. Blokes were always offering to buy me drinks or they would ask for a number, and while I was polite and maybe had a quick chat and a laugh I didn’t take it seriously as it was still a bit of a shock to the system. But as the weeks went by my confidence grew and bolstered by a few white wines I began to relax and let my hair down a bit more. If there was an attractive bloke who offered to buy my mates and me a drink I’d think: ‘What the hell! I’ll let him.’

  The penny had finally dropped that I was attractive again and the person I saw when I looked in the mirror was beginning to change. Gone was the twenty-one stone, one-legged monster and in front of me was a size-10 attractive young woman. It was yet another milestone being reached in my rehabilitation programme and in the accepting of, and learning to love, the person I was.

  After I’d been going out on the town for about three months I felt myself getting bolder. By then, I’d been on loads of trips with Blesma, which not only had given me confidence in allowing me to try something new but all the lads who were also there were so ‘balls out’ about their prosthetics that some of that attitude was rubbing off on me. Many of them wore shorts with their titanium legs – which were often decorated with Union Jacks. They were proud of their prosthetics and why shouldn’t they be? After all, we had all lost limbs serving our country. I remember on the first night out on our ski trip one of the lads whipped off his leg and used it as a drinking cup for some of the local lager and everyone toasted our first day on the slopes from it; even the locals joined in. It was such a fun, spontaneous thing to do. It was all about being proud of who you are and what got you to the place you are in, and that’s something they taught me in spades. This was one of loads of incidents I’d been part of, so they were all in my mind and firmly in my subconscious.

  One night I was standing at the bar and this older guy was giving me some cheesy chat-up lines. It was innocent enough but he was telling me how I was so beautiful I took his breath away. I don’t know what came over me, probably my sense of cheekiness fuelled by a couple of drinks, but I spun round and said: ‘I’ve got something that will really take your breath away.’ With that, I whipped off my leg and laid it out on the bar. He just burst out laughing and so did I, but he never really batted an eyelid. We ended up having a really good chat about it and he was just so positive and so nice that from that night on it was my modus operandi just to tell people about my amputation and get it out in the open as soon as possible.

  As far as men were concerned I’d decided that while I had lots of fun flirtations I was never going to meet someone serious in a bar in Winchester. I had loads of male friends and lots of admirers, although I never took up any offers, but I was looking for someone I had a special spark with. I wanted a relationship, not a fling. Friends of mine knew a guy they thought I’d like, so one night when we were out in a bar they brought him along. The attraction was instant. He was gorgeous and because he knew friends of mine and he also had Army connections he already knew about my leg. That meant it was no big deal and there was no pressure on me to have to reveal anything to him as he already knew. We’d both done a lot of travelling so we spent the evening with friends, just chatting to them and each other about the places we’d been. Nothing at all romantic happened, even though there was a definite spark. We swapped numbers at the end of the night, which was the first time I’d actually done this with any man since the split with Jamie. While it was a big deal, I was determined to remain fairly casual about it and although I hoped he would contact me, I also thought: ‘What the hell? If he doesn’t, he doesn’t.’

  Two days later a text came through, asking me out for dinner at a local restaurant. By the next weekend we were sitting there, just the two of us. The chat flowed all night and we got on so well as we literally had not only some mutual friends in common but shared views on everything, from films to what we liked to eat. It was great fun and we ended the night with a kiss outside the restaurant and then he called me a cab. There was no way it was ever going to be anything more than that as I just wasn’t ready, but even though it was an innocent kiss, it was a huge deal for me. I had met a man who I found gorgeous and he felt the same attraction for me. I was buzzing all the way home in the taxi; I couldn’t wait to see him again. The taxi hadn’t even pulled up outside my house when the text came through from him saying he’d had a great night and when could he see me again.

  That was the start of nearly two months of dating. We had a lot of fun and I was really flattered as although I was feeling so much more confident within myself there was still the tiny voice in my head that said: ‘Why is he with someone like me who has only one leg?’ I knew, as the relationship was progressing, we would be physically intimate at some point. I had never been with anyone since Jamie, so not only was that a big deal but now I was going to get intimate with a new man while only having one leg. We had gone to the cinema and a few drinks afterwards when he suggested coming back to mine for a nightcap. I knew what that meant and what it might lead to, but it was very much a now or never moment. I really liked him and I knew he felt the same and it was inevitable that our relationship had to go to the next level.

  When we got back to mine one thing led to another and it was obvious we were going to take things further and head to the bedroom. My main concern wasn’t actually the act of having sex as I could keep my leg on for that, it was the sleeping afterwards, as I have to take my leg off every night to avoid infections. When anyone sleeps they are at their most vulnerable, but I felt even more so with the thought I’d be lying there in bed with a new man with only one leg. I thought: ‘Oh, my God, I’m going to feel so exposed!’

  I knew it was just another hurdle I was going to have to force myself to overcome and that after I’d done it once I would be able to do it again and it would be easier. I was so nervous but I was going to go through with it. I didn’t even turn the lights off – I kept the bedside lamp on. After we made love, I quickly took my leg off in front of him as I sat on the edge of the bed. He made it so natural for me and didn’t flinch or say a word. It was like the most natural thing in the world to him. I think deep down he probably was a bit awkward about it all, not because he didn’t find me attractive but because he didn’t know what to say to me to make me feel better. But then we cuddled up and went to sleep. I could barely shut my eyes as not only was I exhilarated by what had happened, I was so relieved that me taking my leg off hadn’t been the massive big deal I’d built it up to be. Again it was another watershed moment to add to the many I’d already had.

  We kept dating for the next few months and while it was fun it was beginning to peter out. I felt he was a bit controlling and he started to get a bit jealous of any male friends I had. Retrospectively, I think he knew I wasn’t 100 per cent confident in myself or our relationship.

  A few months into our relationship he would
openly say things like: ‘Why do you need to talk to any of those other men as you’ve got me now?’ It started to make me feel a bit claustrophobic and I began to feel a bit isolated as I was spending less time with male friends I’d known for years. One of my close friends whom I’d known since Headley Court actually called me up and said how upset he was because he barely saw me anymore. That was a catalyst. It got me thinking, was this relationship really worth it? Straight away I knew in my heart that the answer was no. I also knew it was never going to go anywhere long term. I had been through so much I just wanted to enjoy myself and looking back, I think I probably wouldn’t have been that attracted to him in normal circumstances if I hadn’t had my injury.

  If I’m being honest with myself I was just flattered he found me attractive, but then I thought: ‘I am too strong to turn into one of those women who are grateful to a man just for being with them.’ So I made the decision I wasn’t going to stick with him just because I couldn’t get anyone else and broke off the relationship after about six months.

  Although it hadn’t lasted, the experience gave me the confidence to start dating properly again, so I do have him to thank for that. I decided I would go the online dating route as it suited me because I was busy; I also had Milly and I knew I wouldn’t really meet anyone serious in a bar. I’d come on leaps and bounds with my confidence as I’d jumped the hurdle of being able to tell people about my leg and I knew if I did meet anyone serious and it was going to turn intimate, I had the confidence to cope with that situation as well.

  It was also around this time that I decided to put in place the final piece of my body makeover jigsaw and have my second boob job at the beginning of 2013. Before I was blown up, although I was a size 10, I’d always had quite a big bust. And while my first boob job had made a massive difference as my breasts had looked like deflated balloons after my weight dropped off, they were smaller than they were before and I’d also cocked them up with my ski-bob antics. When you have a prosthetic leg it changes your body shape – your bum loses its volume as you no longer use your glutes to walk, instead using your thigh muscles, and I wanted to look in proportion.