“Your boobs are huge,” my partner quipped from the hotel bed as I wiggled into my swimming costume.
I laughed it off and jiggled them in his face before taking one last swim on our holiday in the Dominican Republic, trying to quiet that voice in the back of my head, whispering, “What if you are pregnant?”
“He expected sex; it was never just helping me. The more help I needed, the more I had to beg for it. The more bedbound I got, the worse it got. I had to give up my body to get basic, essential things done because that was the only thing I had to trade,” says Maisie*, a 39-year-old from Northamptonshire who became disabled following childhood cancer.
