I was independent from a very early age. My parents were divorced when I was 8 and I lived with mum and my two other siblings. From a young age, I was responsible for my own actions and also responsible for my family...we had to look out for each other.
Fast forward several decades later and I got married. Hubs was a banker with a penchant for the outdoors and activities that not many would indulge in. He was, among other things, a motocross enthusiast, motor car racer, fencer, scuba diver, amateur jockey, polo player, a pilot and of, course a skydiver. I am a “live and let live” kind of person and although I worried about his near misses, I never insisted that he stopped his activities. He had always wanted to join the Air Force but he was color blind so he could not do so. He did the next thing to realize his dream. He signed on as a member of the Royal Selangor Flying Club (which was then based at the Sungei Besi Air Force Base). He took flying lessons under the tutelage of one Capt (R) Syed Zainal and he qualified for his PPL (Private Pilot’s Licence). So I used to hang out at the Flying Club with him and it was there we became friends with a pilot, Albert Anthony, who flew jump planes as a hobby.
It was also through the Flying Club that we were introduced to MSPA (Malaysian Sport Parachuting Association) founded by an ex-Commando, the late Capt (R) Moid Yahya….may Allah bless his soul. MSPA frequently hired Albert Anthony to ferry skydivers so we signed up to be MSPA members and trained to do parachute jumps. I was inspired by 2 Chinese ladies, Harriet and Lucy, who had already made their jumps when I met them.
I have jumped out of airplanes 250 times todate, (10 static line jumps and 240 freefalls) and I have also done relative work (body flying to hold hands in mid air, before opening the parachute). I was DCA-certified to be a Jumpmaster, the only lady Jumpmaster in Malaysia then. As a Jumpmaster, I was responsible for dispatching novice jumpers out of airplanes. I stopped skydiving in 1982 to have a baby; Nash was born on August 14, 1985.
On August 13,1989, tragedy struck. Hubs was killed in a mid-air collision with another skydiver during the full dress rehearsal for the SEA Games, which was then held in Malaysia (opening ceremony was at Merdeka Stadium). He and another skydiver performed maneuvers in mid-air before opening their parachutes. Suddenly, the other skydiver, an ex-Commando, ran into hubs from behind. As a result their parachute lines were entangled causing the parachutes to deflate. They both plummeted to the ground, entangled in the parachute lines, and landed on Bulatan Edinburgh, which used to be near the junction leading to Dewan Bahasa. Hubs landed first while the other skydiver landed on him. Hubs was killed instantly (I have always prayed that his demise was instant and, hopefully painless) while the other guy went into a coma for 5 days before succumbing to his (internal) injuries.
So, at age 37, I became a widow with a 4-year old son. I was not prepared for this; we married for just 8 years when he died...although we dated on and off for 10 years. So, he was someone I had known for 18 years. My difficult childhood and the training I received when skydiving had toughened me by then. No one said it would be easy but I never knew it would be HARD. I made my own decisions, with input from others but most important, I faced my problems squarely and I take responsibility for the decisions I made; be they right or wrong.
Nash was traumatized by the loss of his father and on the advice of his Kindy’s principal, I sought the advice of a well-known child psychologist, Dr. Kasmini. Dr Kasmini said that children do not understand the concept of death like adults do but since Nash is an intelligent child, he was angry that “ayah” was taken away from him. I told him that “ayah” had gone to be with Allah, because Allah loves him and he was never coming back. Only his doa can help “ayah”. His anger manifested in aggression and he started to hit kids on the school bus and the parents complained to the principal, hence the principal’s request for me to seek professional help. The counselling sessions were long and hard. I was too consumed with my own grief and I did not know how to handle my son’s grief. Slowly, we learnt how to cope and the journey seemed less burdensome, but it was never easy.
To forget my grief, I buried myself in work and I became successful in my career. Since I was the sole breadwinner, I pushed myself to excel at work to pay my bills. I even found time to enrol in a part-time Masters degree program, under my employer’s Education Reimbursement Policy. It was not for financial reason that I pursued the Masters Program. It was more for self actualization. It was very stressful too because for 3 years, I had no weekends for classes were held on weekends. I was in a travelling job then and my assignments were always with me when I travelled. I was very blessed that mum moved in to help care for Nash, with a full time maid. I got promoted and went places in my job.
However, success at work came at a cost - to my health. In the years since hubs died, I had undergone 14 surgeries; three of which were botched jobs that required further surgeries. These surgeries and recovery period added to my stress and one day, I collapsed while getting ready for work. I suffered a panic attack.
I was in my early 50’s and I was diagnosed with clinical (major) depression. I started seeing a therapist (aka psychiatrist) who advised me that my life’s experiences, since losing hubs, had made me a walking time bomb, waiting to explode. When I was younger, my coping mechanisms were strong, but as I grew older, it became more difficult to cope. All I needed was a trigger and the trigger came in the form of stress at work and events at work. I was off work for more than 6 months and during that time, mum was diagnosed with leukemia. It was a double whammy...I was “sick” and I had to grapple with my mum’s cancer. It was like falling hard while I was just struggling to walk again. I had to start from scratch. Also, during this time, I tore my rotator cuff while lifting mum’s wheelchair. I had a surgery while I was sick and looking after a sick mum….it could not get much worse than that.
Those were the darkest days of my life, I was at my lowest but I plodded on...not knowing what else to do except face my problems. It was what made me decide to retire at age 55 although I could have continued to work till 60. I felt that I could not contribute as I did before; given my circumstances. It was a tough decision as I had a well paying job with a Fortune 500 oil and gas corporation...but I realized that there is more to life than money. Yes, money helps to pay bills but I decided I wanted my life back, I wanted to spend time with mum while she is still around. I can always find something to do to earn, but I have only one shot with mum. Today, I am thankful I made that decision to retire, it was the best decision I’ve made in my life.
In 2007, after retirement, I underwent a simple surgery to remove my gall bladder due to stones. However, during the surgery, the doctor nicked my bile duct, causing bile to leak into my abdomen. The doctor tried for 8 days to stop the leakage but was not successful. Since bile is toxic, it eventually turned septic and I almost succumbed to septicemia (blood poisoning). At the very last minute, I was referred to HUKM (from APSH) where a follow up surgery was performed and 2 litres of pus were drained from my abdomen. It was a close call, but Alhamdullillah, I am still standing. During the period of recovery in hospital, I had the calling to perform the Haj and Alhamdullilah, I have now found solace in religion. I now realize how fragile life is..here today and gone tomorrow. I also realize that material wealth does not make one happy, although it makes life easier. Today, I try to share my knowledge and experiences to help others and I am trying to give back to society by being involved in making this world a better place.
The public at large does not understand what depressed people go through. Even my company doctor advised me not to talk about my depression to friends at work for it may create a negative perception of my performance. Depressed people need help, they do not need the additional pressure of keeping their condition under wraps. So, if a doctor can tell me not to talk about being depressed, what hope is there for the person suffering?
To my friends, I “looked” fine. I love singing, went places, played golf, has a good sense of humor and just seem to enjoy what I do. Maybe that was my way of coping...I kept myself busy so that I don’t have time to think of my predicament. It was a form of escape, you might say. It was a facade I built around me...but over time, something’s gotta give. That was when I had a meltdown. Now, I have turned to religion to keep me grounded and yet, continue to live my life and help others for whatever years I have left. I wake up thankful everyday that I can see another day and do whatever I can to make a difference before my time is up.
It has been difficult to bare my soul when I was going through the turmoil but I am now at a stage in my life where I do not worry about what others think of me. I am me and my experiences have made me the person I am today. I have managed to overcome the odds and I hope that by sharing, I can make a difference in someone else’s life. That, to me, is already worth it.
