There is a saying that a cat has nine lives. Similarly, my father has cheated death several times and survived until his last attempt. The first time was while he was posted in Keningau. Father was sent on a mission to investigate a cholera outbreak in Miligan, near the Sarawak border, and his plane plunged into a valley. Luckily, the plane landed on a canopy of trees, and Father was able to brace as the pilot apologised for his mistake. Father crawled out unharmed while the pilot and two assistants suffered fractured limbs. Father's second brush with death happened around 1995. He suffered a heart attack and a stroke while working at his clinic in Beaufort. Somehow, he survived and recovered well enough to resume his work. Obviously, he had a greater purpose in life. Father was a generous and compassionate man. He believed in being an instrument in healing others, and provided exceptional care to his patients regardless of their ability to pay for his services. He never charged patients who were poor and could not afford to pay him. He would even give them medication for free. He was a passionate doctor, and took his responsibilities seriously. I remember a time when he was pacing back and forth in the living room after dinner one day, thinking about a pediatric patient who was very ill. After several minutes, he picked up the phone and called her parents at home to check on her condition. Father always provided quality care to his patients, regardless of race, wealth, or social status. These are some qualities I always admired in him. He truly had a heart of gold.