I was determined to be a proper mum to my boys and nothing was going to stop me. By Amy Patterson, 39
Wincing in pain, I hobbled down the corridor at school, aware of the stares from the other kids.
I’d been born with a rare condition called hemihypertrophy, which made the left side of my body smaller than the right.
I wore a 6cm-raised shoe, but I couldn’t do any sports and was often bullied.
Sadly, an operation to lengthen my leg when I was 13 failed to improve things.
I was also frequently afflicted by a rare and agonising bone infection called osteomyelitis, which left me bedridden or forced to use a wheelchair.
The infection affected me as I got older, and I left college and couldn’t keep
a job because of it.
But I longed to be more independent and said to
my mum, ‘I want to learn to drive.’
I had a few lessons, but that came to a halt after I had an operation to remove some infected bone.
My condition didn’t stop me falling in love, though, and in time I met a man called Richard and got married.
At 23, I gave birth to our little boy. While I was overjoyed to be a mum, the strain of the pregnancy took its toll on my body and I was left in a wheelchair for a year after his birth.
I had to learn how to manoeuvre myself into position to feed and change him.
In the years that followed, I went
on to have two
more boys and, in between, I had more surgery to remove infected pieces
of bone.
But I was determined to be a proper mum, hauling myself along with a walker to take my boys to school, then hobbling home again.
My doctor had warned me that no more surgery could be carried out, and the next infection would probably spread to my bloodstream.
‘If that happens, you’ll need to have your leg amputated,’ he said.
So when another infection hit me, my heart sank.
I tried to explain to the boys what was going to happen in a way they’d understand.
‘Mummy has to have her leg taken away to make her better,’ I told them.
After 30 operations over
20 years, I went into hospital again, this time to have my
leg amputated from the knee.
I was devastated about it, and afterwards it took me three days to feel brave enough to have a look at my leg.
But, as heartbroken as I felt, I was also determined.
After I was fitted with a prosthetic, I told Richard, ‘I’ve booked my driving test.’
We bought an automatic Kia car for me and I began lessons.
On the morning of the test, I was so anxious that
I burst into tears before I’d even met the examiner.
But then I reminded myself how much I wanted to be independent and, concentrating hard, I managed to follow the examiner’s instructions.
Near to the end of the test, I started to blub again.
‘I don’t know why you’re crying,’ he said, smiling. ‘You’ve passed!’
I was thrilled.
Next day, rattling the car keys, I said to my youngest, ‘Get in.’
I switched on the ignition and, as I felt the wheels move off, my heart soared.
Finally, I was moving under my own steam.
Now I love being a taxi
for my kids – anywhere,
anytime.
Next, I want a prosthetic blade, so I can run with them. There’s no stopping me now!