Bleating in this blog notwithstanding, it hasn't been all gloom and doom on the Serchia homestead since I got a cancer diagnosis this month.
Since being discharged from the hospital about 10 days ago, I've been sleeping better than I had been in the weeks leading up to my tracheotomy and biopsy.
What's the reason for the improvement?
My drool output has fallen.
You see, my mouth is Charlie-the-Tuna-sized but my tongue can expand to Monstro proportions. And as my tongue swells, dribble leaks from the corners of my mouth.
During waking hours, I keep tissue close by to sop up the drool. When I sleep, however, there's little I can do to stop the flow.
To make the best out of a losing situation, before going to sleep I position my mouth directly above Jasmine's face on my Disney's Aladdin pillowcase. (Princess Jasmine, as far as I'm concerned, is the true villain in the Aladdin story, and deserves being the target of all of the yucky emissions my mouth can summon.)
In recent days, my nocturnal dribbling has slowed to a trickle. I've been sleeping better as a result, and Princess Jasmine hasn't been getting slathered in saliva throughout the night.
But what I think is happening is that my tongue is swelling even larger than before, and that serves as a dam for the drool.
With luck, it won't be long before radiation therapy and chemotherapy zap the cancer cells in my tongue and bring it back to its normal size, or as close to normal as medically possible, and I'll have a good 25 or 30 years before I will rejoin the drooling demographic.
I'm not expecting a miracle.
But I am certainly hoping for one.