Three-year saga of physical discovery in 30 days!

Just one month since my PEG operation on January 8th, 2025, but it feels like I’ve lived three years in these thirty-odd days. Time stretches when every meal is a carefully planned process when every drip requires a strict schedule to accommodate the second mouth, when every whiff of milk reminds me that my body is no longer what it used to be.

Feeding myself has been a mess — starting from a comedy of errors, really. Spilled milk (no crying, though), awkward angles, and the unshakable smell of dairy clinging to me at night when I get intimate with my tube. And cleaning the wound? Let’s just say, I’ve had my share of moments standing in front of the mirror, gauze in hand, wondering how something so small could demand so much attention.

Then came Chinese New Year, a test of endurance and temptation. The expected yet reluctant family visits, the polite but exhausting small talk, the well-meaning but prying questions. "Are you okay now?" "When will you get better?" As if there’s a neat answer to that. Still, I made it through, red packets exchanged, well-wishes given, and the social battery drained but intact.

And then there was the food. Everyone was stuffing themselves by posting the mountain of food piled on social media. Meanwhile, I sat there, detached but not deprived, dripped on by tube-fed sustenance like it was some secret elixir. I thought I’d feel left out, but oddly enough, I didn’t.

Maybe it was the relief of not having to unbutton my pants after overeating or the fact that I could just observe rather than partake in the chaotic feast. In a way, I felt like I had transcended the annual cycle of overindulgence. My relationship with food had changed, but somehow, I wasn’t suffering because of it.

Slowly, I’m adapting. This new body, this new setup—it’s becoming less foreign. I plan my outings carefully, fitting errands between moments of feedings. Tricky to eat out with a feeding bag. I mean, where do I hang it? 

Looking forward, Social meet-ups will be fewer, intentional. More physio, more exercises—mouth, throat, body—all small steps toward regaining a rhythm. And soon, I’ll disappear for a while, an intentional retreat into self-study. Eight months, perhaps, to write, to learn, to dive deeper into Buddhist psychology.

It's been only one month after the operation and I'm already longing for solitude, away from the crowd. I've my whole life to go without eating. I’ll find my footing again. But for now, let me sit at this moment, breathing, learning, and simply being.