In sleep’s quiet hour, when breaths softly sigh,
A restless obstruction lets oxygen pass by.
The uvula hangs, a small, humble grace,
Yet in some slumbered throats, it’s a hindered space.
Soft palate and pharynx, tissue bold and small,
Constrict in the nighttime, like shadows that fall.
But here comes the surgeon, with delicate hand,
To widen the airway, by deft, precise plan.
Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty’s call,
To open, to lift, where narrowed folds fall.
A scalpel’s keen blade, a healing intent,
For the snorer, the dreamer, this night’s testament.
No more the gasp, no laboring sigh,
Where once was collapse, a clear path now lies.
For those who’ve tried CPAP and struggled in vain,
This surgical art may ease all their strain.
Yet healing is tender, with pain as the guide,
Soft diets and care, as tissues reside.
The weeks pass in waiting, throat healing anew,
As breath finds a rhythm, deep, pure, and true.
Not all will be freed by the blade’s gentle art,
For some, OSA stays, still anchored in heart.
But for many, the night brings a restful reprieve,
Where once there was struggle, now peace to believe.
Oh, UPPP, with your name so ornate,
You grant soundless sleep, and lessen the weight
Of the body’s own silence, disturbed in its rest,
Restoring the slumber in breaths now blessed.
