I’d only logged on to the dating website for a laugh, but now the loveliest face was staring back at me.
According to his profile, Nathan Ker, 24, was a Kiwi rapper who loved music.
I was drummer and a singer, so thought it might be nice sharing my passion for performing with someone. Plus, with his dark hair, stubble, and trendy clothes, he was just my type.
I fired off a message, and within minutes I got a response.
The connection between us was instant. After just a few days of exchanging messages, we decided to meet up for drinks.
As crazy as it sounds, the moment Nathan walked into the crowded bar and wrapped his arms around me, I knew my life was about to change forever.
We spent the night chatting and kissing, and by the end of it, we were a couple.
I’d never felt anything like it.
“I love you,” Nathan told me.
I knew it was fast, but I felt the same way, too.
Just days later, Nathan met my parents Pnina and Troy, who both adored him.
“I already feel like he’s part of our family,” Mum beamed.
Three weeks after our first date, Nathan came round for the evening. I had a spa in my back yard, so we changed into our bathers, and hopped in.
We were having a great time frolicking in the water, when suddenly Nathan looked panic-stricken.
“What’s wrong, babe?” I frowned.
“I can’t feel my left side,” he croaked, clenching his fist in confusion. “I can’t even wiggle the toes on my left foot.”
Nathan had told me he’d been suffering terrible migraines for the past eight months. He’d had heaps of tests but in the end a neurologist had just prescribed him with strong medication.
“Maybe it’s another migraine?” I said.
But I could tell by the terrified look on Nathan’s face that this was far more serious than that.
I helped him out of the spa and into the house, laying him down on the bed.
“This is not good,” he shook his head.
He phoned his mum Sharon, who happened to be a neuro nurse, and told her his symptoms.
“Call an ambulance now,” she insisted. “I’ll meet you at the hospital as soon as I can.”
My heart was pounding as I dialled triple-zero. Minutes later, the ambos arrived, and we were whizzed to Angliss Hospital.
Nathan was taken straight in for a CT scan and not long after a doctor came in to talk through the results.
“I’m very sorry but you have a large tumour on the right side of your brain,” the consultant said.
I gasped in shock, and tightened my grip o his hand. I saw Nathan was crying.
Moments later, Sharon and Nathan’s brother Jordan, 22, arrived and we told them the awful news.
“Rikki, we need to break up,” he told me when we had a quiet moment. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I can’t put you through it.”
I knew I loved Nathan right from the start, but his diagnosis made more certain than ever.
“Security will have to drag me away from you, kicking and screaming,” I told him, tearfully. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That night, he was transferred to the neurological unit at St. Vincent’s Hospital for more tests. I called my boss at my factory job, and booked a week off work. I didn’t want to leave his side for a second.
The next day, there was more bad news.
The neurologist thought the tumour was a glioma. “They’re so aggressive that I only have a 30 per cent chance of survival,” Nathan gulped.
“Try to be positive,” I reassured, hugging him.
“If I make it out of this hospital alive, I’m going to ask you to marry me,” Nathan said.
First, Nathan needed an MRI to confirm what kind of tumour he had.
To our immense relief, it was a meningioma – a type that’s almost always non-cancerous.
There was still the risk of paralysis, but we tried our best not to think about that.
Two days later, I kissed him goodbye as he was wheeled down for the op.
“I love you,” I choked. “I’ll be here waiting for you to wake up.”
I sat nervously in the waiting room, holding Sharon’s hand. The doctor had told us the op would take two hours, but after four, we still didn’t have news. Sharon started to cry, which set me off.
When the surgeon finally came to see us, we were both bawling.
“We managed to remove the entire tumour,” he told us. “Nathan is awake in the recovery room, and is moving his left side.”
The relief was overwhelming.
And there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when we went in to see him and he started punching the air with his left fist.
“I’m alive!” he cried. “I’m not paralysed!”
His head had been shaved and he had a huge semi-circular scar across his scalp, but you wouldn’t think anything was wrong, the way he was acting!
My cheeks hurt from smiling at him so much.
Over the next couple of days, he needed help to walk again as he regained feeling in his left side.
He hobbled out into the corridor on his walker and I stood in front of him.
“I’m going to walk into your arms,” he vowed.
He put the walker to one side, and gingerly stepped towards me until I grabbed hold of him.
“You did it!” I beamed.
I was so unbelievably proud of him.
Next day, I went down to the hospital gift shop to get some chocolate milk for him, when I spotted some lollipop rings.
I thought about what Nathan had said, about getting married if he survived this.
I bought one and got down on one knee beside his bed.
“I’m so proud of you,” I choked. “Will you marry me?”
The look on his face was priceless as I placed the lolly on his finger,
“Yes!” he grinned, tears streaming down his face.
Our friends and family were thrilled.
It hasn’t all been plain sailing, though. Nathan can’t work or drive at the moment, as he is still suffering occasional seizures.
We’re planning to wed as soon as we can afford it
If there’s one thing his ordeal has taught us, it’s that you never know what’s just around the corner. So we want to be married so we can face it as a team.
