While Anthony made us a cup of tea Karl told me: ‘I feel such guilt about what happened to you.’ I told him that the guilt wasn’t his to shoulder. In fact, I think my words were: ‘That is the most ridiculous guilt ever – you have nothing to feel guilty for!’ I told Karl I wouldn’t have met Anthony and I wouldn’t have this beautiful baby inside me if the blast hadn’t happened.
I firmly explained: ‘I am quite at peace with the fact I had to go through such a dark time to get to where I am now. My daughter is a new beginning in my life and I want you to have a new beginning in yours. There’s nothing to forgive.’ I also wanted him to understand that only one person was to blame in all of this and that was the insurgent who had pressed the button, launching the mortar.
Meeting Karl again was cathartic for both of us. I’d had so many lapses of consciousness that I really wanted to know what had happened to me and I was desperate for him to give me those answers. He managed to fill in a lot of blanks that I had from that day, which meant a huge deal to me and I think from his perspective seeing me looking well, happy and pregnant, meant the world to him. I didn’t realise until after our meeting that not knowing exactly what had happened to me during and after the blast still cast a bit of a shadow. Meeting Karl freed me from that as hearing what he remembered and saw helped me fill in the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that had bothered me for years. We didn’t have answers for everything, but it helped such a lot.
After he left, I went out for a birthday dinner with my friends and I started telling them, and then I got emotional as it was just so amazing to have seen him. They said: ‘Oh, my God, what an amazing birthday present!’ and I have to admit it was one of the best birthday gifts of my life. Since then I’ve kept in touch with Karl much more closely, messaging on Facebook and speaking. I truly believe that everything does happen for a reason and I feel I had to go through all of that bad stuff to get all of this.
Over the years I’ve also kept in touch with John Lewis, my friend and the man whose guard duty I took on that fateful day in Iraq, and we’ve seen each other numerous times since I was injured. John and his wife and kids came to stay with me just a few weeks after I met Karl again. We talked all about the baby and spoke about his kids. We have always got on like a house on fire and nothing has changed. They live in Germany now so it made sense for them all to stay the night. It’s like time has never passed when we all meet up, it’s always great fun. We don’t dwell on what happened in the past as so much has happened to both of us since then; we both have more children and our lives have moved on. We have maintained such a good friendship through everything and now I always think we will. We only talked about that fateful night once, way back at the beginning. Now neither of us ever mentions it. Quite simply, we don’t need to and that’s now the same with Karl, with whom I know I’ll stay in touch for the rest of my life.
By the end of March being pregnant started to take its toll and I developed a serious rash on my stump that threatened to become an open sore. It led my consultant to say: ‘Your body has had enough, the safest thing is to do is have a caesarean.’
Against all odds, I gave birth two days later, on 31 March 2014, to a healthy, 5lb 12oz baby girl we named Lexi-River, which means ‘saviour and defender’. Anthony and I had put together a CD of music we wanted played in the operating theatre. As they pulled her out of me and she started screaming, my favourite Groove Armada song, ‘Just For Tonight’, came on. Anthony held her first, until I was able to sit up, then she was put onto my chest. I looked into her blue eyes and the joy I felt was indescribable. ‘She’s just perfect,’ was all I could say as I was crying so much with happiness. Lexi-River screamed the place down and it was an amazing, perfect moment.
I’d never imagined or dared to dream I’d be a mother again. Each time I hold her and look at her piercing blue eyes I feel overwhelming love for this amazing little person I thought would never be here. Anthony specially made up a little pink romper suit on which is written: ‘Look, two legs, Mummy!’ as an ‘in joke’ for us, which made me laugh when he got her dressed. Today, I still have to pinch myself to believe I have a beautiful baby. Lexi-River is the most wonderful gift of my life. She was the most amazing, unexpected and miraculous surprise.
After Lexi-River was born our house was full of people for the first two weeks, as everybody wanted to celebrate the fact that she’d arrived safe and sound. As I’d had a caesarean, I was struggling to get around as you use your abdominal muscles more as an amputee, so it was difficult. The slack was taken up by our many visitors, who all wanted to give cuddles and bottle feeds. I honestly couldn’t believe my luck during that time after everything that had gone before.
Then, three weeks after Lexi-River was born, I woke up gripped by an agonising pain and I ended up being rushed, yet again, to A&E for a CT scan. I was in surgery within twenty minutes due to a rupture of my stomach and then placed in a high-dependency unit for ten days. All the while Lexi-River was at home alone with my mum, who cared for her with Anthony. They would bring her in twice a day but it was like all my worst fears had been realised: my health was keeping me away from my baby. I felt guilty I wasn’t with her and I feared history was about to repeat itself.
Once I was discharged I was so ill, I was unable to carry Lexi-River, so the burden fell on my mother to run the house and care for her as Anthony struggled on his own. My health visitor was amazing too in giving support at that time and I was really able to talk to her about what was going on. Due to the strain of everything my relationship with Anthony broke down. Perhaps it was wrong of me to compare, but while my ex Jamie had risen to the challenge all those years ago, my relationship with Anthony didn’t have strong enough foundations and it crumpled like paper. We split up after I came to the realisation: ‘I’m going to be better off doing this on my own than I am with you.’ By the end he wasn’t even my friend, let alone my partner, which was really sad.
For the first time I truly realised and appreciated just how amazing Jamie had been as a partner. His career had suffered as a result of what had happened to me as he spent so much time caring for me that he was passed over for promotion, yet he never made me feel bad or complained; he just got on and did it. He’d never made me feel like a burden with my disability, even through the darkest times when I was mentally ill when I first got home with PTSD, and when he had to care for me before and after my amputation. It was a big shock that Anthony couldn’t cope as well when I fell ill. I never wanted to rekindle my relationship with Jamie but I rang him and said: ‘I never really appreciated until now just how much you did for me, so thank you.’
We’ll never get back together but I admire him and respect him as he’s an exceptional person and I’m very proud that he’s Milly’s dad. Despite the rollercoaster of my relationship and health I was determined it wouldn’t affect my bond with Lexi-River and I wouldn’t miss out – and I haven’t. She’s an absolute joy and I have Anthony to thank for bringing her into my life.
Nikki was also there, along with Mum, to help me through the worst of the split. She took a week off from the Army from her role as Lance Sergeant in the Household Cavalry in London to stay with me and she helped me when I was still recovering and feeling exhausted. She’d say: ‘You go to bed and I’ll do the first night feed so you’ll have a longer sleep, and then you can do the second night feed and I’ll have a lay-in in the morning.’ She really helped me when I needed it. She’s still there on the other end of the phone for me now to give her advice about dating or baby issues. It’s the strongest friendship I made in the Military without a doubt, as it seems at every milestone or hurdle, Nikki has been there. Nikki leaves the Army in 2016 to focus on a new chapter in her life. She now has two children: Chloe, who is ten years old, and a son Stuart, who is now eight. She plans to move to Northampton, so it will be just like old times, as neighbours popping in and out of each other’s houses now that we are both single mums.
Even in my darkest hours after the split I
felt I had found a new inner confidence and a new sense of peace. Finally, I was taking control of my own life. I was putting all my past demons to bed and thinking now of the future and what I had to do to ensure it was going to be a bright one.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FACING THE PAST AND MOVING ON
There has always been a little niggle at the back of my mind that the one thing I had never really faced up to properly was my old self. Well, the celebrity picture of my old self, to be precise. After I did the shoot with Bryan Adams all those years ago I didn’t give it much more thought because, as I said earlier, when I’d seen the pictures I’d hated myself in them. Initially, when they went on show at London’s National Portrait Gallery in 2013, I was invited to go and see them but I just couldn’t face it.
I’d found out I was pregnant with Lexi-River, so I had countless emotions running through me and the thought of standing there, staring at a picture of myself at the bleakest time in my life, looking and feeling my worst, was the last thing I wanted to do. I’ve barely looked at the images since then; the only use I have now for the hardback book they are in is as either a door-stop or as something to support Lexi-River’s feet when she plays in her baby bouncer at home as she’s still too small for her toes to reach the ground. So, it came as a surprise when my mum found out from one of her friends that the exhibition, Wounded: The Legacy of War, was running again in London at Somerset House in November 2014. Mum spent a few days deciding whether or not to tell me and the thought did cross her mind just to let it go, as I wouldn’t have been any the wiser. In the end, she thought it was something I should know as I feature in it. When she told me, during one of our phone calls, my gut reaction was: ‘Oh God, not again!’
While I’m still glad I posed for Bryan Adams, I was only at the start of my recovery, so it was just a snapshot of a moment in time – and not a good one at that. It’s because of the timing in my life that I hate the pictures and the odd few times I have looked at them in the book I have had to quickly close it. It’s hard to look at myself when I know at that time, in May 2011, I was just horribly sad and my life was in a very dark, weird and vulnerable place. I was simply dragging myself along and I wasn’t living but only just surviving. So it was as if once more the pictures and the spectre of my past self had come back to haunt me.
I was wound up at first, as a part of me knew I should go and see it, but a bigger part of me didn’t want to. Because I had moved on so much with my life I had to ask myself seriously: ‘Why am I so bothered about seeing the images again?’ I think I was always fearful, up until that point, of looking at them in case it took me back to a place where I didn’t want to go. That meant, unlike everything else in my life, I didn’t hit it on the head; I avoided it. It was an ostrich-in-the-sand approach, which just isn’t me at all.
The thought kept niggling away for a few weeks before I thought again to myself: ‘Right, this is ridiculous! I’m going to go and see myself and put this ghost to rest.’ I told no one I was going except my mum; I was determined my girls would be there with Mum and me as well. It would give me a chance to remind Milly how far we’ve come and I wouldn’t dream of going there without Lexi-River too. The first chance I had time to go and see the exhibition was the start of January 2015 so it seemed a fitting way to kick off the New Year. Making peace with the images of your former self certainly beats giving up chocolate or a glass of wine on the New Year’s resolutions list!
The four of us took the train from Northampton to London and got ourselves to Somerset House. As our black cab pulled up, I felt surprisingly calm about it. We’d chosen to go early on a weekday morning as I was convinced it would be quieter and I wanted to make sure we were the only ones around. The exhibition was in one of the back wings of the museum so it was tucked away. What I wasn’t prepared for was how big some of the images were. When I walked into the stark white room I caught my breath and grabbed Milly’s hand, more to support me than her. My mum held Lexi-River in her arms and the four of us went in.
I’d spoken to Milly about it on the train down and told her: ‘Mummy’s picture is hanging in a famous gallery in London but it won’t look like Mummy now, it’s Mummy from before.’ She’d already seen the pictures when I got the book several years ago and she still has some memories of me being like that, but she takes it all in her stride – it’s just Mummy to her so it all seems very normal. Inside, it was like a who’s who of people I knew hanging on the wall, three feet high: triple amputee Mark Ormrod, a Royal Marine Commando, was there; Sergeant Rick Clement, who had lost both of his legs above the knee after an explosion in Afghanistan, and a second Royal Marine Commando, Joe Townsend. My heart was racing when I saw them all in the same room together. I felt a few tears stinging as I could see a lot of pain in some of their eyes. I know how they must have been feeling as I have had those feelings, too. Yet each photo relayed an overwhelming sense that despite the broken bodies and wounds there was also courage, defiance and humour.
Walking through into a second room, it then hit me. On the wall, on the left-hand side, nearly three feet high and in full technicolour was me. I was standing side on, wearing my camouflage uniform, with my first titanium leg on show. Staring at the photograph led my heart to flip over and my pulse to race: finally, after everything, I was looking back at myself. Mum looked quite emotional, but she’s always been stoic and for a few minutes we stood before the image in silence. When I looked into the eyes of the woman in the picture, while my stance at first glance looks proud, all I could see was that I’d become a shadow of the young women I used to be, filled with misery. Recognising this also led to a kind of mental release for it’s something that isn’t there anymore. I turned to Mum and simply stated: ‘That isn’t me.’
With that, a feeling of relief flooded over me. Here I was, facing myself, and a place in the past I have fought so hard to leave, but I’ve also been so scared to look back at. Finding the courage to look back meant I now knew categorically that I had left it behind. Gone is the old Hannah in the picture, banished to the past where she belongs. I felt euphoric and wished I’d done it all those years before, but everything takes time and for me the right time was now.
A few other visitors to the exhibition had filtered into the room by now so we weren’t alone. As people looked at the images one woman stood beside me and said to a male friend who was with her: ‘God, look at that poor woman! She’s been through so much. I wonder where on earth she is now?’ I wish I’d been braver but I didn’t say a word, and thank goodness Milly didn’t hear her or she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from piping up: ‘It’s Mummy!’ as she’s so proud of me.
As I turned to walk away, I gave her a smile. She smiled back completely unaware I was, in fact, the woman in the picture. That cemented in my mind that I am now completely unrecognisable as the Hannah hanging on the wall. Seeing the photograph again in all its glory was just another stepping stone in the journey forward with my life. Milly asked me: ‘Are you OK, Mummy?’
I hugged her and said ‘yes’ and then she asked to go to the café for a drink and something to eat. Just like that we all turned and walked out of the room. It was as if we’d walked away from that chapter of my life into a new one and I couldn’t have been happier to close the door firmly shut. As I strolled out into the sunshine, with Lexi-River in her pushchair, Milly’s hand in mine, and my mum by my side, I felt euphoric and I didn’t look back. Everyone I loved was there in that split second right beside me and I felt strong and complete. I knew the demons were going forever and I was emerging again: my girls and me could do anything.
The three of us have become so close since Anthony and I split up. Once I’d got over the initial stages of being scared of being on my own I began to love life with just the girls. Through Lexi-River I had started to meet other young mums in the area at baby massage; I’d also made a lot of friends now Milly was at school. My health visitor was brilliant as well – she was coming out to the house regularl
y and getting me involved in lots of stuff for the kids, like playgroups. I was rebuilding my life without Anthony and determined to get out and about, adjusting to being a single mum.
Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy, and anyone who says being a single mum is has never walked in one’s shoes. You have to do everything 24/7. And if Lexi-River cries in the night, unlike other mums, I’m not able just to jump out of bed: I have to take a few extra seconds to put my leg on and then go to her. It was harder, but I got on with it. I had to – there wasn’t any other choice.
As Lexi-River grew older, week by week things started to get easier. We got into a great routine and Milly, Lexi-River and I were like a tight-knit little three-man unit, ready for anything. I felt whatever life threw at us, what the hell, we pulled together and we handled it. In some ways it was a relief to be on my own for I just had to look after my daughters and myself. I just counted my lucky stars that I had such great friends and family, who I could rely on at even the hardest of times. The help from Milly has been invaluable – she has always been totally brilliant and a proper big sister to Lexi-River. She just has to walk into a room and Lexi-River has the biggest smile for her. Now Lexi-River has grown up a bit, Milly is able to play with her properly and when she was a newborn, Milly was always running and fetching things for me, like nappies and baby wipes. I don’t think I would have managed without her. Our relationship is so strong and we share a unique bond.
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