[Top: Mr Fernando has cared for his ailing wife for the past 33 years.]

By Ng Tze Yong

THE world inside their three-room Ang Mo Kio flat is one that few know about and even fewer choose to enter.

For 33 years, Mr Raymond Anthony Fernando has been single-handedly taking care of his 56-year-old wife Doris, who suffers from schizophrenia.

The good days pass quietly. The bad days, when Mrs Fernando suffers a relapse, are a frantic blur, with Mr Fernando having to rush her, often unwillingly, to the Institute of Mental Health (IMH).

'Taking care of a mentally-ill person is harder than taking care of, say, a cancer patient,' said Mr Fernando, a 59-year-old writer and motivational speaker.

'This illness is terrifying because it is unpredictable. It requires 24-hour, minute-to-minute care. It's like walking in a minefield and not knowing when it will explode.'

The recent attack on Mr Seng Han Thong, where the MP was set on fire by an elderly retiree, shocked many Singaporeans.

But for those battling the stigma of mental illness, it hit home especially hard.

'I do not condone violence,' said Mr Fernando, who runs a website (http://www.rayofhope.per.sg) advocating awareness of mental illness. 'But I was also worried that all our efforts would go down the drain.'

The attack, Mr Fernando hopes, will highlight the need for more to be done for mental illness in Singapore.

The stigma has estranged both husband and wife from their families.

The couple started out as penpals. Six months later, they married secretly because of family objections.

Mr Fernando knew his wife was suffering from schizophrenia then. 'But I told her I was not looking at the illness, but at the beauty of the person's heart,' he said. 'She touched me with her sincerity.'

The couple used to work - she as a secretary and he in broadcasting and public relations. Today, Mrs Fernando has difficulty walking because of arthritis and Mr Fernando has quit to take care of her full-time.

They keep to a handful of friends, from church, or former classmates. Then, there are people like the retiree from a nearby corner unit who drops by with presents every time she travels overseas, and the stranger who passes them money anonymously.

'The angels in our lives are not the people you expect. They are not family; they are strangers,' said Mr Fernando.

The couple are childless after an abortion and a miscarriage and spend most of their days 'doing housework, resting and writing'.

Three times daily, Mr Fernando counts out various pills, and sits by his wife as she swallows them. These are the 21 tranquillisers which help keep the illness at bay.

But she suffers relapses, excessive noise being one common reason.

Warning signs

It starts with her complaining of headaches and insomnia. She starts finding it difficult to concentrate, sometimes spending up to an hour in the shower.

'My wife is usually a very good cook so sometimes, when I find that the food is a bit too salty, I know a relapse is coming soon,' said Mr Fernando.

When it hits, Mrs Fernando starts feeling frightened and cries for no apparent reason.

Sometimes, she thinks someone is trying to break into their flat. Or she imagines there is a war coming and tells her husband to grab his passport. Sad memories come flooding back, and she has suicidal thoughts.

She then has to be rushed to IMH. But first, he must sweet-talk her out of the house.

'I hug her a lot. I whisper to her, it's okay, Tabby, I'm here for you,' said Mr Fernando. (Tabby is Mrs Fernando's pet name.)

Sometimes, it works. Sometimes, his words can upset Mrs Fernando even more.

'When she scolds me, I cry inside, in my heart,' said Mr Fernando. 'I don't want to cry in front of her. But after I leave, I go to the bus stop outside IMH, and sit there and cry.'

When he finally gets home, he feels lost. The house is suddenly empty and he has all this time on his hand.

'On those nights, I just sleep,' he said.

'It is extremely exhausting for me. Sometimes, I cry like a baby. There is so much pain and there is no one I can tell it to.'

As he sleeps alone on the queen-sized bed, he imagines his wife at IMH, tied up to prevent her from hurting herself.

Mrs Fernando usually starts to recover after a few weeks. When she does, she always apologises, often in tears, to her husband for scolding him during the relapse.

'When I have a relapse, I am aware of what is happening but I cannot control my actions and thoughts,' she said.

'My mind is somewhere else. I cannot tell what is true and what is false.'

For three decades, Mr Fernando has found it in him to forgive his wife.

'I know it is the illness and not her,' he said. 'Over the years, I've learnt to completely separate the two.'

It's the struggle that every caregiver of a mentally-ill person faces.

'There are thousands out there, all suffering in silence,' said Mr Fernando.

Five years ago, he wrote a book, Loving A Schizophrenic, based on his life story.

And today, on an old desktop, Mr Fernando has saved every e-mail he has got, thanking him for being an inspiration and asking him for advice. How, they all want to know, did he find the strength to hang in there?

'I made a vow to myself once,' he said. 'I told myself that the woman I marry, whoever she is, I will love forever.'

GET HELP

Institute of Mental Health
Tel: 63892222

Caregivers' Association of the Mentally Ill
Tel: 6782 9371

Silver Ribbon Singapore
Tel: 63861928

Action Group for Mental Illness
Tel: 63869338

Singapore Association for Mental Health
Tel: 1800 2837019

This article was first published in The New Paper on Jan 20, 2009.