MARCH 3 — Twelve years ago, I found myself on an operating table at Sime Darby Medical Centre in Subang Jaya, my life hanging by a thread. My heart — stubborn, clogged, and on the brink of failure — needed saving. A bypass was too risky, a gamble with time I didn’t have. The only way forward was three stents, meticulously placed by the hands of a man who had done this dance with death countless times before.
That man was Dato’ Setia Dr Anuar Masduki, a name synonymous with excellence in Malaysia’s medical world.
He was the kind of doctor who carried an air of quiet confidence — unshaken, precise, and resolute. There was no fuss, no theatrics. Just a man and his skill, threading through my blockages with the calm certainty of someone who had made a lifetime of saving hearts.
When I woke up, I knew something had changed. Not just in my chest, where my blood once again flowed freely, but in my soul. Alhamdulillah.
A month later, I captured his portrait — a personal tribute to the man who gave me back my life. He smiled gently, the same quiet confidence in his eyes, as if to say, it’s just another day’s work. But for me, it was everything.
Portrait of Dr Anuar Masduki. — Picture by Abbi Kanthasamy
Dr Masduki was more than just a cardiologist. He was a testament to the beauty of Malaysia’s diversity. My care team in that hospital room twelve years ago reflected the very essence of this country — a Malay doctor, an Indian nurse, a Chinese dietitian. It was a reminder that when life is on the line, we are not defined by race, only by the hands that heal.
Now, that pair of hands has left this world. Dr Masduki passed away recently, during the holy month — a blessed departure for a man who dedicated his life to saving others.
I write this with a heavy heart, knowing I never truly got to thank him. But his legacy is not in words, nor in the medical degrees that lined his office walls. It is in every life he restored, in every heartbeat that still echoes because of his work.
Rest in peace, doctor. Innalillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un. Al-Fatihah.
* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
