IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S ME…

OK… MAYBE IT’S YOU.

My Forever Complications Post Tongue Cancer And Why It Makes Me Standoff-ish And Isolative In My Personal Life.

MIKE CARAVELLA

August 5, 2026

Being the baseball nerd and die-hard NY Mets fan that I am, I was happy to see one of our former players, Carlos Beltran, get inducted into the Hall Of Fame last week. It made me think back to when the last NY Met, Mike Piazza, was inducted 10 years ago. Just starting Year 2 of our two year odyssey living in Florida after escaping from LA, we took a family trip driving up the east coast to go to Cooperstown, NY for the induction ceremony. It was on that drive, while eating Pringles, I turned to my wife Jean and said, “I think there’s something wrong with my tongue.”

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This is where this blog story got difficult for me. There's so much to write. So many directions. And I took them all in the last two weeks, and I wrote them all. But this is a blog page. And I consider it an entertaining one. So I’ve deleted about 8000 words that I wrote for this story detailing the whole journey, per my wife's suggestion because she likes reading long winded, sentimental, sappy shit that I find creatively offensive. I still love her though… And I don’t live through this episode of life without her. It sucked, and it was long and brutal, and I thought I was going to die. 4 notable people you’ve heard of had my cancer. Eddie Van Halen, Val Kilmer, Michael Douglas and Bruce Dickson of Iron Maiden. Two are still here and two are not. I had reason to be nervous.

What I really wanted to write about is the after-effects of all that craziness and how it still affects me on the daily 10 years later. Physically, mentally, and socially. And how you all play a role in the latter point. Here it is.

As mentioned, we were living in Florida at this point and that was cool until it wasn’t. I think I was just happier being out of LA. I was done with the Hollywood industry, and was putting acting on the back burner. I was going to concentrate on writing, and I could write (and bartend), anywhere in the world. But I was actually getting work acting in Florida. I was doing some commercials, which pays well, but is artistically vapid. And I was doing regular voice-over work in Miami, most notably English dubbing for the hit Telemundo Soap Opera, MARIDO EN ALQUILER. Serious acting work though was very limited. But it’s a thin herd of experience there, so when opportunities presented themselves, I was in the middle of it. BLOODLINE, the newly minted hit Netflix show, filmed in The Keys and started up production on Season 2 shortly after we relocated there. I got an audition for an episode. Then I got another audition for another episode. This time with a call back. Then it happened a third time. Audition, callback, but not booked. When my agent called me to tell me that they wanted to audition me a fourth time, the writing was clearly on the wall that they liked me, and were trying to find a spot for me. But as my luck would have it, again, I had to pass. Cancer had now taken over my life, and preserving it was my first priority.

And what used to be the front of my tongue now sits about 15 degrees to the left, so my tastebuds are all misaligned and confused. The radiation killed most of my saliva, leaving me with severe dry mouth. And it made me hypersensitive to everything. What’s mildly spicy for you is atomic for me. Even ketchup zings me pretty good. Vinegar and acidic foods are nuclear explosions. Sugary shit makes my teeth feel like they’re about to fall out. Hard liquor is a blowtorch. Black coffee tastes like ass. So no, I don’t want to go out to eat with you. Especially the way you all eat.

Oh, you’re a healthy eater? Healthy proteins are like sand paper going down and most of the time get stuck on the back of my tongue. Leafy greens, quinoa, and all that other bullshit is impossible for me to swallow without literally chasing it with a gallon of beverage. So no, I don't want to eat with you either.

Good thing I’m Mediterranean because a Mediterranean diet works just fine for me. As long as I’m making it. I saute chopped proteins and vegetables in olive oil, garlic, onions and basil and serve it over pasta. Fucking delicous. And I can eat it every day. Rich, creamy, fatty dishes work for me too. I pretty much eat like the French. High caloric value, but small portions. So no, I won’t be meeting you at Applebee’s.

I won’t be inviting you over to eat either. I have to concentrate on my chewing or I aspirate really easy, so no talking while eating please. Even my family members, who know every step of my journey, can’t help themselves. A couple of months ago we went out to eat with family. I figured that was safe. I was having a tough time eating my dinner because it was spicy even though I always lay out the disclaimer when I order to have nothing remotely spicy. But a line cook with a heavy hand on the black pepper might as well be slitting my throat. Anyway, while I’m struggling with the spiciness, a close family member is peppering me with questions while I have food in my mouth. I’ll be staying home for Christmas, thanks.

The dry mouth is a constant battle. I take medicine three times a day to stimulate saliva, carry a little spray bottle of oral solution I’m always hitting, and drink so much water I’m pissing all day. My tongue feels like a dry rock every morning when I wake even with a humidifier blasting in my face all night long. That’s how the day starts. I sit quietly for 2 hours and sip my coffee with creamer (sorry coffee critics) and slowly eat my cereal and get some work on the computer done. So no, I won’t be answering any phone calls until the afternoon.

I know. You’re saying “But Mike… we see you out at your events all over the country and you don’t shut up!” True. Thankfully for me, my job is also a social environment, so I can get it all in while I’m there. But know that when I get home at the end of these sojourns, I am in pain, and have no voice left, and need about 3 days of silence, and tea, and soft foods, and neck/gland massages from my selfless wife to recover, every single time. So work is my social time. And that's ok. It beats the alternative.

And that's the silver lining to it all. 10 years later, I’m very happy with my life. The cancer gave me a new perspective and keeps me humble and honest with myself. I have achieved more of the things I’ve always aspired to in the last 10 years than I did in the first 48. Yeah it ain’t perfect, but whose life is? So when I pass on a social gathering, don't jump to self-centered conclusions. I just don't feel like explaining my physical boundaries every time I hedge. Honestly, that social drama would probably happen even without my complications… Still love you though.…

Fucking cancer… In a life filled with moments and episodes where I have been just absolutely beat down, this was the biggest sledgehammer ever dropped on my head. Squamous Cell Carcinoma. On my tongue. The cause was never confirmed because I checked all the boxes. I started smoking at 14 years old. Really heavy for at least a decade during my cocaine days. I also started drinking at 14, which increased to abnormal heights over time. I decided to quit my drug use, which was you name it I abused it, after a near death experience. Of which I have dozens of in all sorts of ways. I kicked drugs by ramping up my alcohol consumption to ungodly levels. I got the drinking under control while raising my kids because nothing came before them. But when I wanted to drink, man, I threw it down. There was also a lot of risky sexual behavior in my teens and twenties as well. It was the 80’s and 90’s in NYC after all. But I never tested positive for HPV (human papillomavirus). And then there’s all the fucking tongue biting I did my whole life that drew blood. Repetitive trauma is a cause of cancer. That's why you all slather yourselves in all of that sun block. There’s a quote from ROCKY I like to use about my journey, “You wanna dance, you gotta pay the band…”

Payment came in the form of a 6 hour surgery that removed 20% of my tongue, and a neck dissection to remove 50 lymph nodes from my neck. Essentially a big part of the front of my neck. And then 7 weeks of radiation, in my mouth. With 3 rounds of chemo thrown on top of the radiation simultaneously. After the surgery and before the chemo and radiation, they scanned me again. And found more cancer. So they did another neck dissection. I am very fortunate that I can still use my arm, because nerve damage is a risk after just one of those massive neck surgeries. Obviously twice inside of two months raises the chances. And then they started cooking my head 5 days a week for almost 2 months. Brutal.

I’ll skip the play by play of it all. I’m a tough guy. I’ve endured a tremendous amount of shit. This was the worst. I was barely alive by the end of it. And it would not get any easier anytime soon. For starters, I have a fucked up tongue. It would take 2 years of speech therapy to get myself communicating clearly. At least clear enough for all the pretentious assholes of the world to jump in mid sentence when I’m speaking to correct my pronunciation.

And I looked terrible. A giant pirate scar on the front of my neck, coupled with lymphedema which gave me a giant swollen turkey neck, gave me the trifecta. I was convinced I’d never act again. Who needs all of that shitty judgment from angry unsatisfied casting directors?

“The only thing you can assume about a broken-down old man is that he is a survivor." - James Caan - WAY OF THE GUN