A guy can learn a lot when he’s undergoing tonsil cancer treatments.

For instance, I recently had an appointment with a woman named Tina, a speech therapist. I learned that it’s important to keep your mouth parts fit and healthy via exercises that help preserve the ability to swallow. Among the exercises Tina assigned me was sticking out my tongue as far as possible.

This is great news. It gives me an excuse to stick out my tongue whenever the spirit moves me. If a bystander takes offence, I can shrug and say, “Doctor’s orders.”

Lymphedema is a new word in my vocabulary. The lymphatic system, I learned, is an integral part of the body’s garbage disposal workforce. Parts of my neck are being irradiated on a regular basis, which can interfere with the flow of lymph.

My wife and I met with a physical therapist named Paula. Paula has is an energetic woman who has a voice that reminded me of Peppermint Patty.

I have always associated physical therapy with “no pain, no gain.” For the first time ever, this wasn’t the case.

Paula demonstrated how to gently massage my neck here and there to help reroute the flow of lymph. Her touch was so soothing and light that I very nearly fell asleep. This gave me a whole new perspective regarding physical therapy, one that could include the mantra, “you don’t need pain to gain.”

Paula also gave me a thing called a neck bra. It’s every bit as unalluring as you might think.

I was told that the chemo drug that’s administered to me once per week wouldn’t cause me to lose all my hair, that I should expect only some slight thinning. I’m not so sure. I’m shedding like a muskox on a hot June afternoon.

When I first started down the path of chemoradiation therapy, I was issued a couple of prescriptions for antinausea drugs. I looked at all of those pills and thought, “Holy cow, I’ll never go through all of that!” I secretly believed that I would be able to conquer nausea via the sheer force of my iron will.Pride goes before the fall.

The nausea invariably rears its ugly head a few days after each chemotherapy session. It’s so severe that the mere aroma of food is enough to make me think about yakking. No actual upchucking has taken place, thank goodness. It’s tough to toss your cookies when there aren’t any cookies to toss.

A guy doesn’t feel like eating when he constantly feels that way. I’ve learned that it’s easy to rationalize going without food, promising myself that I will load up on high-calorie goodies later.

But later never comes. Compounding things are the issue with how things taste. On a good day, food tastes like nothing. Anything I eat could just as well be shredded cardboard. That’s on a good day; on a bad day, food has a negative, metallic flavor.

You could feed me the most scrumptious meal and I would say, “This tastes like an old penny. If I were to guess, I would say that it was stamped at the Denver mint in 1965.”

The folks at the cancer center are fanatics when it comes to losing weight. Many of us carry around a few extra pounds that we would like to shed. But I have been told that this is no excuse, that I need to hold the line on weight loss.

At the beginning of this ordeal, a gastric tube was installed in my abdomen. I was certain that this was totally unnecessary, that I would be able to keep on eating throughout my treatments.

I was taken to task after losing more than four pounds in a week. It was impressed upon me how important it is to get adequate nourishment in order to successfully complete the entire course of my treatments.

Easy for them to say. As of this writing, food has as much appeal for me as a bale of straw. I know that I should want victuals, but the desire just isn’t there.

So, I swallowed my pride and began to use the gastric tube. The majority of my calories now comes in the form of a brownish liquid that slowly trickles into my stomach.

My wife will pour the liquid into a gravity bag and announce, “Dinner is served!”

Oh, well. At least I don’t have to taste the stuff.

I’m looking forward to the day when my sense of taste returns to normal. My plan is to find every last pound that I’ve lost.

— Jerry’s book, “Dear County Agent Guy,” is available at www.workman.com and in bookstores nationwide