<p>My mother-in-law kept calling and tried contacting other oncologists she knew, but my husband decided in a snap to take me to the ER instead. Thank God he did because my surgeon rushed down to meet me and said my colon could rupture at any moment. The surgery he originally said was impossible was now necessary. Honestly, this was a life-or-death situation. </p>
<p>He started by ordering an NG tube, but the ER nurses were out of their element with it. They couldn't find a tube small enough for me, so they were setting to sedate me and force it down my nose. When they consulted with my surgeon for a second opinion, he stepped in and transferred me to the surgery ward where the nurses routinely practice NG tube insertion on each other. It was such a smooth process. My nurses found a tube in my size and instructed me every step of the way. I have always had a phobia of tubes being inserted down my throat, but the Lord made it easy. Even if I needed some berry-flavored throat numbing spray every few hours, the NG tube brought the instant relief my husband and I prayed for. Praise God. </p>
<p>The surgery itself turned out not only to be possible, but I recovered in superhuman time. It takes time for the colon to function normally again, but it was fine right away. I was back on a normal diet in 3 days when recovery should take weeks. God worked an undeniable miracle, and my surgeon was nothing but smiles after having been so gloomy. Hallelujah. I didn't want the surgery at all, but before, I was on a low-roughage diet that cuts out all the joy (no quinoa, no strawberries...), and now I can eat with freedom. More so, it saved my life. God always takes care of me. </p>
<h2>clickbait turns out to be a God save</h2>
<p>My chemo treatment is FOLFOX, which includes oxaliplatin. It has a really weird side effect that increases cold sensitivity. Being exposed to cold feels like electrocution. The night after first infusion, a few drops spattered from the sink onto my arm, and I felt intense shocking for an hour. It freaked me out, even if I was warned to be careful. </p>
<p>The side effect was not so bad after first exposure, but I had to wait for the sink to warm up before coming anywhere near it, drink lukewarm water, cover my face and hands in the cold, and generally flee from cold. Thankfully, the shock goes away immediately if I touch something warm. It's supposedly not as bad as neuropathy, another potential side effect, but I want to avoid nerve damage on any level. </p>
<p>Of all the side effects to have from chemo, this, fatigue, food tasting slightly different but not enough to shift my preferences, and hair loss is a pretty light load compared to all the cancer symptoms it has wiped out. I've heard much worse, so thank God for being gentle with me. </p>
<p>However, side effects are progressively worse as more treatments are delivered, and on round 4, the cold sensitivity was on the cusp of unmanageable. Everything was too cold for me, even lukewarm water and room temperature fabric. My hands locked up while trying to use plastic utensils to eat with. I couldn't drink or eat well the first few days. The intensity decreased during the week, but still, if it will get even worse again and again, eek. I asked my husband and small group at church to pray about it. </p>
<p>I am a million times more comfortable talking about cancer than I was a month before diagnosis, but it's still a downer topic that comes up a lot. I can share the positives, sure, but more often than not, the other person will begin sharing the time their loved one died from cancer and feel sad. Instead, I usually try to turn all cancer smalltalk into chatter about this cold shock thing. It's not <em>that</em> bad of a malady and is pretty universally interesting as it's so strange and obscure. I suddenly wanted to see if there's a real term for it, if I talk about it so much. "Cold shock thing," "cold sensitivity" is always awkward to say. Well, naturally instead, I clicked on outrageous clickbait! What else do you do while trying to research something serious? </p>
<p>Fight Colorectal Cancer has an article titled <a href="https://fightcolorectalcancer.org/blog/chemo-oxaliplatin-cold-sensitivity/">Keeping Cool: Can Ice Keep Side Effects at Bay?</a>. The findings, all from random patient hearsay and a Facebook group, claim the best way to prevent suffering from the cold is to give in completely. During infusion, eat ice chips, wear ice packs, freeze your socks, and the cold will accept you as its own. You can go out and eat ice cream immediately afterward, when the side effect would normally be at its most biting. There were no clinical studies of this at the time of the article, but it's so easy to test. Why not? </p>
<p>"Icing" myself during the hour infusion by sucking on ice chips actually worked. I accidently washed my hands with cold water when I came home, and it was like nothing. As a test, I held an ice drink, and there was a little shock after a while, but this was weaker than the first treatment. I'm not suffering from unexpected breezes or cold surfaces or anything. I can live my life rather normally instead of looking like a parka caterpillar. Amazing. God gives you what you need when you need it. Ice may be the best palliative treatment I've had. :) </p>
<h2>a thousand little miracles </h2>
<p>I'm tired and will continue later. :) Thanks for reading, and please thank God for all His faithfulness and lovingkindness. </p>
<p>I'll update as I go. :) Thanks for reading, and please thank God for all His faithfulness and lovingkindness. </p>
chimchooree
9 months ago