I’d been single for a couple of years when I won the booby prize in 2006. My family has a history of breast cancer so, although I was shocked, I wasn’t too surprised to find myself on the receiving end of a solemn diagnosis.
Living in regional Victoria made cancer treatment tough. I had chemo and radiotherapy locally and travelled to Melbourne for a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery.
Being single was just fine at the time. I had no interest in someone else’s opinion about my treatment choices or the changes to my body – there were more important things to worry about.
But by 2010 I was ready to think about letting someone into my life and decided to try internet dating. It was a – sometimes comedic – foray into the unknown. Writing my profile presented a challenge. How do you say: “I hope you are not a tits man?” Or a leg man, for that matter (mine are lumpy).
Time to get creative. “17.2hh roan mare. Hunter type. Some scarring that does not affect performance. Not suitable for beginners.” Or: “Classic wide glide. Minor modifications and a few miles on the clock.”
I was willing to meet anyone who seemed genuine but often found myself sitting in opposite some potential suitor and wondering what the hell I was doing. It was wearing me down.
At the point I was about to give up, I had a message from a man who lived 100km away.
No photo, and a profile that was less than informative: “I work most of the time and when I’m not working, I ride my Harley.” At least he sounded honest. After a brief exchange of messages we agreed to meet at a pub halfway between us.
His calloused worker’s hands were trembling with nerves and there were glimpses of distinctly military tattoos under his tidy shirt. We settled into a sunny corner with our counter meals and beers.
The conversation flowed freely. After a couple of hours in front of that steady brown gaze I felt a sense of calm – that I could trust this man. We agreed to see each other again.
Over a few more dates we met each other’s friends. You can tell a great deal about someone from their mates. I really liked his and I appreciated their willingness to get to know me. He settled in easily with mine – being able to get along with a bunch of strong-minded women is a rare skill.
He invited me around to his place to make wind chimes. I know that sounds a bit odd but I was charmed. It was also a brilliant opportunity to see how we would work together. Would we think the same way? What would happen if we wanted to do things differently?
One day, wandering through a hardware store, I’d picked up a 20oz Stanley carpenter’s hammer with a shock-absorbing grip. It was a sexy tool with a lovely weight, and there was no way I was leaving without it.
So on that chime date I brought the hammer along. We were so engaged with our measuring and problem solving that he didn’t seem to register I’d arrived with a blunt instrument.
There was some confusion when I spotted “my” hammer sitting on a bench a few feet away from where we were working. How on earth did it get over there when I hadn’t been using it? I checked my tool bag; there was the hammer. There are two of them! We laughed and agreed we shared excellent taste. I’m not one for seeing “signs” from the universe but this was a moment I knew we had a future.
In 2016 my cancer returned. Round two of treatment was gruelling but, bless him, he just let me get on with it, and he put up with the occasional tantrum. He would run me a bath and rub my feet, knowing that could shift my frantic and angry mood to something more reasonable.
It took a couple of years to recover and I’m now as well as I’m likely to be. We don’t talk about it much; there is a quiet acceptance that the future may not be too rosy but we won’t know how things will work out until we get there.
It’s been 13 years since our wind chime workshop. We’ve never moved in together because one of us would have to build a substantially bigger shed to accommodate all the hardware. But in that time we’ve overhauled our houses, transformed his garden into a haven of colour heaving with bees and gently restored a barn-find HJ47 LandCruiser, which we’re ridiculously proud of.
The hammers still get a regular workout. Like us they are looking a bit worse for wear but I still marvel that, out of all the hammers in all the workshops in the world, he still favours mine.
Tell us the moment you knew
Do you have a romantic realisation you’d like to share? From quiet domestic scenes to dramatic revelations, Guardian Australia wants to hear about the moment you knew you were in love.