When first learning to negotiate this world, I escaped outside, using my new found love of walking. I was one year old.

With a habit of pointing at everything and an unhealthy curiosity for moving parts, my fingers and I became separated when they came into contact with the fanbelt of our Massey Ferguson 148.

I can only imagine the chaos and fright I created for my parents. But after several operations, my baby finger and the majority of the other two were saved. Thankfully, I can count on one hand (sorry) the number of times people have said: “Oh, what happened your right hand”. Most don’t ever notice.

Some people might think missing about a third of two fingers would limit them in life. For me, I have never missed them. I was dragged to piano lessons and force fed the recorder in primary school. I've never felt uncomfortable with the angle grinder in the ‘wrong hand’.

I’ve learnt to negotiate the world just fine but I still have an unhealthy preoccupation about quick drying inks and flat opening notebooks.

I’m one of the lucky ones. When growing up, two of my neighbours lost their arms in PTOs and I often thought of them and their difficulty in adjusting in life.

Like a right-handed person or a person with both arms, you do not think about the hand you pick things up with or the hand used to button clothes. It’s one of those things that you do instinctively.

While children love the adventures down on the farm, they don’t know danger. It only takes a split second. Farm safely.