Charlotte Swift
Finding someone who knows exactly what you’re going through provides huge comfort, as I found out when I met fellow amputee and journalist Charlotte.
Every week for the past few months, Charlotte and I have shared coffee, cinnamon buns, gossip – and prosthetic appointments. She drives me to the London Prosthetic Centre in Kingston upon Thames, where we have breakfast in the clinic and put the world to rights while our new prosthetic legs are fitted. It’s unconventional and so is our friendship; if I hadn’t lost my leg, I would not have found Charlotte.
Charlotte lost her left leg below the knee in 2013 following a car crash. We were put in touch by a friend of a friend, who knew we were both journalists. As well as work, we share a realistic, yet positive, outlook and the same sense of humour. Most of all, she understands what I’m going through, because she’s been there.
Even before I met Charlotte, I’d text her about all sorts of things, from practical matters, such as disability allowance and blue-badge applications, to the deeper psychological impact of losing a leg. When she visited me at the rehabilitation unit, she brought a set of lovely shower gels, knowing that the hospital alternative was harsh and clinical. The gesture showed me that she ‘got it’ in a way many people didn’t. I trusted her immediately. I’ve always felt safe being
honest with Charlotte, whereas I often worried that my darker thoughts would upset my family. I never have to hide my true feelings or pretend to be okay.
Charlotte continues to be my sounding board. In her 40s and married with a two-year-old son, she’s spoken to me about what it’s like being pregnant and a mum as an amputee, milestones which seem distant now but, of course, have crossed my mind. When I felt brave enough to start dating again, it was Charlotte I messaged from the toilets at a restaurant, wondering how the physical side of my new relationship would work. ‘Do whatever you feel comfortable with,’ was her reply. To this day, she continues to take my panic and (sometimes slightly intrusive) questioning in her stride, and I hope I can be as much of a support to her as she is to me.