COSMOPOLITAN · 91BEHINDTHESCENESEllaDove
“Writingthishasreminded
meofsomanyweird andwonderfulstories.
n onethree-weekperiod,I hadthreefirst
datesatthesamerooftopbar.I gotso
confusedI calledonemanthewrongname,
andreferredtoanother’slovelyMiniature
Schnauzer,earninga blankstareandthe
cuttingresponsethathewasin factallergic
topethair.ThispieceshowsmehowfarI’ve
comein termsofdatingandbodyimage- andthehappinessthathasfollowed.”
*NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED. THIS SPREAD: JACKET, T-SHIRT, SKIRT, BRACELET AND NECKLACES, ALL AS BEFORE. SANDALS, BOOHOO. STYLING
MADDY ALFORD.HAIR AND MAKE-UP JOLANDA COETZER AT LHA REPRESENTS, USING URBAN DECAY, ANASTASIA BEVERLY HILLS AND AVEDA. NAOMI RED ROSES, FLOWERBX.COMBut our conversation flowed easily.
In a sense, we were opposites (scientist
versus writer, logic versus creativity),
and yet we had a lot in common. We
shared family values, a silly sense of
humour and a love of dogs and food.
We connected on a deeper level, too.
From the start, the comfortable
honesty between us felt refreshing and
reassuring. George’s intuition meant
he instinctively knew – and knows –
what I need to hear. We deleted
our dating apps together on our fifth
date, sitting in the cinema, George
nudging me as the light of his phone
illuminated his happy smile.
As an amputee in a relationship,
there will always be challenges for
me. Times when I feel unattractive,
when I have blisters on my stump
that leave me in a wheelchair, when
I’m at my most vulnerable and sad.
But George is there with home-baked
peanut-butter cookies, compliments
and unwavering support. And for
those of you wondering – yes, I do
now take my leg off...
On one of my darkest days in
hospital, I was lying in bed, the tears
unstoppable. I couldn’t imagine how
lifewould ever be normal again, how
I’dever find someone who loved me
withone leg. I was sure I’d be alone
forever. But my surgeon straightened
mybedsheets and looked me in the
eye.“Not all men are shallow, Ella,” he
said.And, it turns out, he was right. ◆
FiveSteps To Happy by Ella Dove
(Trapeze, £14.99) is out nowthink were appropriate to ask.
Questions that, for a long time, even
I didn’t know the answer to. “Do you
keep your prosthetic leg on during
sex?” “What if, in the throes of
passion, you whack the man in the
face (or worse) with your prosthesis?”
“What positions work?” As my
flamboyant Spanish nurse said in
hospital, to the horror of my mother,
“You can still do the doggie”. So
what would happen when I did get
my (one) leg over? When I asked an
amputee pal for advice, her answer was,
“Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
The first man I slept with, as an
amputee, was Greg* – two years after
the accident. We’d been dating for
a few months, and we were at his
house watching Love Island one night
when we started to “do bits” ourselves.
I was a bit tipsy, which definitely
helped. But as I sat in my underwear
on his sofa, I just couldn’t relax.
Mid-kiss, he glanced at my prosthetic
leg. It was a fleeting moment, but
it was enough to throw my delicate
self-confidence off balance. I couldn’t
bring myself to expose my stump.
Greg and I had sex a few more
times after that – and I always kept
my prosthetic leg on. In hindsight,
it was a sure sign that I wasn’t fully
at ease. Thankfully, there were no
painful mishaps, but I don’t think
Greg realised just what a big thing
this was for me psychologically. I was
yearning for him to reassure me; to
tell me I was sexy, to restore my shaky
self-esteem. He didn’t. Instead, he
cut off all contact without warning
just a few weeks later, teaching me
two very valuable lessons. One: my
fragile emotions could no longer
withstand having sex with someone
I didn’t fully trust. And two: even
disabled people get ghosted.
I’d recount these lessons to friends,
making jokes to try to mask my
shame, but every unanswered
message, every date that went
awry, chipped away at my mental
state. Greg disappearing without
a trace really took its toll on my
emotions, sending me into a void
of grief and isolation.THE RIGHT MATCH
It took therapy sessions, chats with
friends and, most crucially, time on
my own to build myself back up
to realise that being single wasn’t
a weakness. Learning to love myself
again meant I was also opening my
heart for someone else to love me.
Three months after Greg, I was idly
scrolling through Hinge when I
matched with a man whose smile was
warm and kind. He had a dimple in
one cheek and a glint of mischief in his
eyes. His messages were thoughtful and
funny. When talk turned to meeting
up, I said that I had a prosthetic leg.
By now, I was fed up of pretending.
“It doesn’t bother me at all,” George
replied. He didn’t probe or comment- and the chat moved on. He’d struck
the balance perfectly.
Our first date was a brunch. Scarred
bypreviousencounters,I wasnervous.
READm I d c a S c t c –wF
yElla’s found happiness
with George