Emily was the kind of family doctor you hope to find: calm, present and genuinely interested in the people sitting across from her. She listened first. She examined carefully. Then she treated — not just the illness, but the human behind it.
A senior family physician at Raffles Medical Group, Emily brought more than 25 years of practice to her patients. She blended up-to-date medical knowledge with an old-school, personal touch. Patients noticed. Colleagues noticed. Her practice reflected both skill and warmth.
Emily trained at the National University of Ireland’s Faculty of Medicine. Ireland mattered to her. It’s where she met Jimmy in 1992 — a fellow med student who would later become her husband and a doctor at the National University Hospital. They married a few years after graduating and built a life together that quietly mattered.
They discovered, oddly and sweetly, that their ancestral villages in China were only a ten-minute drive apart. Fate, it seems, likes small coincidences.
Family came first. Emily and Jimmy had three children — Joshua, Elijah and Elizabeth. Two were born while Jimmy was studying in the United States in 2000. Emily put her kids at the center of her world. She even returned to Singapore a year early to sort out their schooling and make sure the transition was smooth. That’s the kind of planning that looks small at the time, but becomes everything later.
At home she was attentive and steady. At work she was responsible and gentle. She rarely raised her voice. She was patient-centered in the purest sense: she cared about people, not headlines. Her father, Dr Pwee Hock Swee, a kidney specialist, helped inspire her love for medicine. Still, Emily never used that background to boast. She made friends easily and always kept the spotlight away from herself.
Then, in 2022, life took a hard turn. Emily was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Still, she kept showing up. She continued seeing patients because she wanted to be there for them in person. That decision says a lot about who she was. Work was not just a job. It was a calling.
Cancer and treatment tightened family bonds. Dinner nights became sacred. Even when Jimmy traveled, the couple made time to travel together and make memories. They tried, as they said, to leave fewer regrets. That attitude wasn’t dramatic; it was steady. It was real.
By 2025 she had recovered from cancer. Hope was real. But early October brought a sudden pneumonia after a fever and cough. Despite treatment, Emily passed away on 17 October 2025 at the age of 54.
She leaves behind her parents, parents-in-law, Jimmy, their three children and the family pet, Pepper. People who knew her remember a selfless doctor, a devoted mother, and a grounded person who made others feel cared for.
What she taught us
- Be present. Emily listened. That alone healed a lot.
- Choose steady love over loud gestures. Her life proves it.
- Work can be service. She treated patients like people, not charts.
- Make time for family. Small rituals matter more than big plans.
My point of view
Losing someone like Emily hurts because she gave out stability. In a world that applauds the loud, she was quietly consistent. That steadiness is underrated. It’s also contagious. When a doctor gives time and attention, patients feel safer. When a parent sacrifices small comforts for their children’s future, the payoff is lifelong. Emily modeled both.
We often chase the dramatic forms of meaning — big trips, big achievements, the curated moments. Emily’s example pushes back. She shows that steady devotion, daily presence and quiet care build a life that matters more than applause ever could. If you want one practical lesson from her life: pick the small, important things and keep doing them.
A short, honest note
Tomorrow is not guaranteed. That’s uncomfortable to say, yes, but true. Emily and her family acted like that truth was real. They made dinners, traveled together when they could, and prioritized each other. That’s not morbid. It’s practical living.
Farewell
You’ll be missed, Emily. Thank you for the care you gave, the time you spent, and the quiet example you set. Rest well.
