The first 3 days

The beginning

My first thought after 7+ hours of surgery?  "I'm alive. Take that, hah!"

My second thought?  "Fuck, I can't move my body, son-of-a-bitch, what the hell, someone help me NOW."

Yeah, the inability to move my legs and arms had managed to put me in a total freak-out.  The doctor came over, ran some tests, and mumbled something about "swelling."  She left, and another doctor came to my bedside.  She looked about 12 years old, and her head barely reached the top of the recovery bed.  "Remember me?" she asked. "I was the neurologist who watched your nerves during surgery."

My intelligent, productive, helpful response?

"Really?  Last I checked, I was ASLEEP during surgery.  I don't remember a damn thing."

(Have I mentioned the "sarcastic bitch when scared and in pain" personality trait?  I blame genetics, of course. Just look at my sisters.)

This sweet, young,  adorable pixie actually GIGGLED, when I spoke to her. I was not being funny. I would have lifted my arms and moved my fingers around her throat, if I had any motor function left in my body.  She is one lucky pixie.

"Everything is fine" (giggle) "Your nerves checked out fine during surgery" (giggle, giggle)  "I'm sure this is just swelling or spinal cord shock" (giggle)  "Feeling will return soon, within a couple of days" (giggle, wave, run for her frackin life)

24 hours later, the pixie was vindicated.  Somewhat.  I could move my arms and legs.  Still weak, can't walk, can't feel a damn thing-- and no way can I eat solid food.  Choke, choke, choke,  But I can move.  The nurse keeps staring at me and laughing.  Do you think she finds my flailing leg pushing the food cart funny?  Probably.  I find it funny, too.

Wish I were a better person.  Wish I was happy to be alive, to have some motor functions (damn left hand still won't move, and my toes suck because they won't listen to my brain).  I'm scribbling on paper towels, only 5-6 words at a time, using my right hand, the only one that works, the one I never used to use. I need to start my story, even though this situation SUCKS.  (Editor's note: "sucks" was underlined five times, with many exclamation marks-- I admit, a bit overly dramatic...)

This was found on the margins of a Vogue magazine, written later that night:
fuck, pain.  pain, pain, pain.  the numbness has left my shoulders, and my entire body is on fire.  electrical jolts in my fingers, and muscle spasms are in my neck, arms, hands, butt, abdomen and chest.  there are "creepy crawly" bugs running under my skin. (Editor's note:  I knew there were no  bugs crawling on my skin.  I just called the feeling "creepy crawly bugs" because it felt like something was climbing across my shoulders, arms, legs and neck. It's a weird type of nerve pain.)  i almost wish the dead and numb feet, legs and hands would spread to the rest of my body.  i miss the pre-surgery days of numbness.  this pain sucks.  the seizures won't stop.  make it all go away.

Day 2
OMG, OMG, OMG. The most gorgeous human being has walked into my room.  Brown skin, glorious smile, butterscotch eyes. Yum. Yep, my hormones are fully functional, too bad I feel like a floppy porpoise and can't get laid. Orgasms are on the no-no list, and why bother with sex if...?  (Editor's note: orgasms can cause autonomic dysreflexia)  Damn, he's hot.  Damn, he's a doctor.  Oh, double-damn-- he's head of the fucking department, married with many kids. No harm in lusting after someone though, right?  Oh wait.  He thinks I'm a good candidate for rehab in Vallejo.  Awesome news.  Best program in the state, maybe the country.  They'll teach me to use my legs, arms, live life.  They'll find a way to control the autonomic dysreflexia. How cool is that?  Damn though, the hormones have turned me into a giggling 14-year-old that will agree to anything, right now.  I am even writing like a hormonally-crazed adolescent from the 80s.  OMG? Cool?  Fur shur?  Where do those words come from?  My mouth?  YECH.  I suspect I am channeling that silly pixie neurologist.

Day 3
son of a bitch. i made it to vallejo rehab, but i have no idea what's going on. the paramedics put me on my new bed and left. my family is here.  the doctor won't talk to me.  he talks, but it's to confirm info in my chart.  he doesn't listen. i try to tell him that i have other diseases, serious things wrong that will impact my recovery. the nurses said my seizures are worse, daily. muscle spasms are horrific. i'm starting a small fever, which could become something bad. very bad, very fast. he refuses to hear me.  i get so frustrated that i tell him to call and consult with my pcp in san francisco, with my autoimmune doc, with my neurologist.  he refuses. "i treat spinal cord injuries, that's all i need to know"  he strips me naked in front of my sister and parents, and i ask them to leave. they don't need to see me poked and prodded.  they already had to hear too much about my life, my health, the things i did to hide my illness from them before surgery. this doctor won't listen. he doesn't know why i asked my family to leave. he is holding a safety pin and sticking it into my body parts, causing spots of blood on the sheets. poking my anus. i feel nothing.  i am freaking out.  why don't i feel something, anything??? 

my family doesn't need to hear me scream.

(later, scribbled on the inside of a bag, hard to decipher some words)
it is 3 am and i can't stop crying. the doc told me i should be able to deal with more pain, that i should not ask for meds until i was an 8 out of 10. that's barely able to move due to pain.  i ask for meds when i am at a 5 or 6, because i know it will get worse.  i tell him that my autoimmune disease causes muscle and chest pain, but he doesn't believe me, he doesn't understand,  he goes ahead and lowers the amount of pain meds prescribed by my PCP and surgeon, and HE DOESN'T TELL ME.  i have to hear it from the nite nurse.  she makes me feel weak, mocks my pain, says i am too sensitive to pain.  i have to beg for an extra pain pill.  i am begging like a fuckin addict, but i can't move my shoulders and arms because the muscle spasms won't stop.  i'm scared.  the nurses walk away. no one will talk to me, tell me what's happening, what to expect in the hospital.  not knowing, not having a schedule? my worst nightmare.  is a little compassion, comfort too much to ask for? they agree that the doctor is challenging, and tell me to talk to him.  they refuse to ask the doctor on call to change my pain meds back to my ORIGINAL DOSAGE. at least they should let me know if someone will help me get to class, dress me, feed me breakfast in the morning.  they've already forgotten to feed me lunch and dinner today, and they made fun of me when i tried to open the apple sauce, to take my ever-changing meds.  i can't use my fingers, no strength, barely hold this pen, even with breaks.  tried using my teeth. ouch.  okay, it was kinda funny, and i had to laugh at the silliness.  they finally helped me when they saw i couldn't do it. still, i can't stop crying tonight. damn. this is not what i expected, wanted, dreamed about...so sad...so hurt...this sucks.

ZEN

POV

View from bed:

View from chair:

(ears!)

Dark and twisted

Crazy lady dedicates the above Floyd reference to Khyra's crazy lady. Thanks to Wine and Woman, my crazy lady delved into her Floyd collections and spent the early evening perusing Animals, Dark Side of the Moon, and The Wall. Yes, she lived the cliche of a sullen, morose horror author scowling at the world and writing (well, technically, speaking into the dragon) twisted prose, into the wee hours of the night. All she needed was some medicinal fortitude, and life would have been perfect. Me? I tormented Grannie by hunting Bambi in their backyard.

Good times!

Potty Mouth

Disclaimer:
If you are looking for a light and fluffy piece about puppies, check this out.
If you have a delicate disposition and detest bathroom talk, go here.
If you are related to crazy lady and find her medical stories upsetting, visit here.
None of the above? Consider yourself warned.Crazy lady has been making "the rounds" with various neurosurgeons, searching for a good fit for her upcoming surgery. She's screwed because the damage is severe, but she knows that there are different levels of being screwed-- totally, somewhat, or maybe just a little. She leans towards surgeons who have a lot of experience with a "little screwed" attitude. (She only prefers the "totally screwed" outlook when dating wicked men...)

Anyhow, one of the most disheartening elements is the number of years she has been symptomatic, with no one saying "ah ha!" after a trip to the emergency room, neurologist or regular doctor. She learned early on that it is important to be your own advocate, especially when dealing with medical professionals. Doctors live in a world of numbers and assumptions. Are you fat? Must be sleep apnea. Female trouble? You're hysterical. Shitting yourself? Stress induced, most likely irritable bowel. Doctors look at people, lump them into a normal statistical range, and never connect the dots or consider the outliers. Using outliers (those "rare, but possible" scenarios) to find a diagnosis is too expensive. It does not make sense when you live in a universe driven by profit. It only makes sense if you're a staff writer for House. If you-- as a patient-- suspect that something is wrong, you need to find a way to "connect the dots" and prove it to your doctor.

Most of all, always remember that doctors are human beings, and they make mistakes.

This was a hard lesson to learn. Crazy lady has a long history of swollen bellies, high fevers, night sweats, internal bleeding and rashes. It took the powers-that-be over 25 years to find the cause. There was no cure, but the diagnosis heightened her doctors' sensitivity to outliers. Knowing this, the geneticist cautioned crazy lady in the early days of her disease management:

"Your doctors do not know this disease, and you will have to be the expert. YOU will have to teach THEM."

So, crazy lady has learned to provide Mayo clinic summaries and "cheat sheets" to new physicians, especially anyone who needs to perform surgery. She has learned that surgeons never listen to the patient. They are "cutters"-- they focus on the rot in your system, and they "cut it out." She gets tired of surgeons claiming, "It's no big deal, we'll just go in and fix it." Inevitably, she overhears them grumble in recovery, "Holy shit. Well, that was interesting." Her favorite words-of-wisdom from one of her doctors, after having to remove her "female parts?" "Thank God you listened to your body, and not us (doctors). I thought for sure we were right. I guess we were wrong."

But, I digress. Like crazy lady says, "Anger at the past gets you nowhere." Past mistakes, however, can help you prevent future drama. Let's take the most immediate mistake-- the current issue with her spinal cord and column. What happened?

Well, as far as she can tell, it started with a carpal tunnel diagnosis many years ago. When she was in Academia, she oversaw massive medical history databases, including the National HIV Registry and the UK Breast Cancer Registry. Later, when she slaved for Corporate America, she worked with medical and finance databases. She also spent extra hours writing short stories and books. She had sold her first story when she was 15 years old to Penthouse Magazine, and she was hooked. (Did you really think the forum was written by perverted men? hah!). She averaged 18 hours a day at the computer. When her hands went numb, she wasn't surprised at the carpal tunnel diagnosis.

Then, four years ago, crazy lady lost bowel control at work. One moment, she was talking on the phone to some bank executives-- and the next moment, she was shitting in her pants. (The irony of the situation was not lost on her.) What did she do? She put the phone on mute, adjusted her headset, and ran to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet and continued her conference call. Okay, perhaps this was not normal human behavior, but she was more worried about stopping unethical banking practices than crapping in her pants. When she started having bladder problems later that night, she (finally!) went to the emergency room. Their diagnosis? Maybe stress, irritable bowel, weak muscles, and/or lactose intolerance. They taught her Kegel exercises, pumped her full of drugs, and sent her home.

And here was her first critical mistake-- crazy lady did not question the diagnosis, and she devalued the problem. She still doesn't know why. Maybe because it was an "embarrassing" problem, and her doctors hated to discuss it? (trust me, crazy lady doesn't get embarrassed about bodily functions) Maybe because she had learned too well in disease management programs to "box" pain and discomfort, like all good Stoics? Maybe she was tired of her body crapping out on her? (pun intended) Living your entire life in pain can be exhausting. Plus, stress was a very real issue. She worked for an evil institution, and she hated the politics of her job. Her writing was gaining in popularity, and she was having a hard time juggling commitments. Her characters didn't care if she indiscriminately peed and pooped, but it was a very real issue in the workplace.

Now, she wasn't a complete moron. She continued to bring-up the bowel and bladder problems during her biannual doctor appointments, but no one seemed concerned. Crazy lady stopped worrying and moved on with her life. Only recently did she connect the dots and mention it to her neurosurgeon. She wanted to know "what happened?" and "what can be done to prevent this from happening to someone else?" So, crazy lady compiled 30 years of medical records, built a database, and developed a "symptom" timeline. She overlayed the symptoms with the "misdiagnoses" for a 20-year span. (Yeah, I know, her neurologist called it OCD, before he scanned the results into the computer for his own research study...) The surgeon's response to her analysis?

"Huh. If they had run the MRI 4 years ago in the ER, they could have done the surgery and stopped the problem. Now, it's too late."

Then, he said something that made her furious with him and herself:

"Maybe you should have said something sooner? How were we suppose to know?"

Ah yes, misguided blame and guilt. The end result? (Besides suppressing the desire to twist the surgeon's testicles until he stopped screaming?) Crazy lady was reminded of some valuable life lessons...

Trust your instincts.
Listen to your body.
If your doctor won't listen, find another one.

Don't ignore problems that last for days, weeks, months and even years. Find an answer that makes sense for your body. Always have an updated copy of your medical records, and have faith in your ability to "connect the dots." Finally, to paraphrase her geneticist, never forget that YOU ARE THE EXPERT.

Politics and Hope

Wow. It has been a seriously busy week, and the upcoming weeks include 18+ medical appointments. Crazy lady has started occupational therapy, and she hopes it will enable her to regain some independence. Occupational therapy is teaching her how to compensate for the loss of strength in her hands and arms. They are teaching her how to do those little things we all take for granted-- dress, wash, cook, brush hair, clean clothes. The next time you wash your hair or put on your pants, try NOT using your hands. That's crazy lady's world, right now. It has also given her some positive glimpses into an otherwise dismal future. In other words-- for the first time in many months-- crazy lady has hope.

Another glimmer of hope has come from an unexpected source: her congresspersons office. Thanks to the wonderful suggestions by Linda of Bo, crazy lady went ahead and wrote her congressperson, John Garamendi. She's a realist- she knows that the political machine is tangled in bureaucracy. Nothing good might happen. But, what harm could it do? And, maybe it will prevent someone from getting hurt by incompetent social security medical contractors, in the future? Here's part of the letter she sent last week:

"...I am writing because I have grave concerns with the type of medical tests DDS has required me to perform, due to the inexperience of their medical consultants. The tests were in direct conflict with my treating physicians’ instructions, and have put my safety and health at high risk. It has become apparent that:

(1) DDS medical consultants have very little (if any) experience with cervical spinal cord injury and the progressive nature of my disease.
(2) The independent referral physicians used by DDS have very little (if any) experience with cervical spinal cord injury and disease.

... I had to refuse some parts of the medical exam; and, as a result, my case will most likely be denied and I will have to undergo a lengthy appeals process. However, what if I were someone who could not say “no” to a physician during an exam that put her life at risk? I understand that errors happen, but there is something very wrong with a medical review system that permits these kinds of mistakes..."
Congressperson Garamendi's office sent crazy lady some paperwork to complete, and she called because, well, she can't hold a pen to write. She was hoping they could send her an electronic version of the questionnaire (dragon ROCKS for voice recognition). She spoke with Karen Tedford in the Walnut Creek office, and learned that his office often meets with representatives from the Social Security Administration, to review problems and issues brought to their attention by his constituents. Again, crazy lady is a realist, and she knows nothing good might happen- but, she was encouraged by Karen Ts professionalism, experience and tenacity. The woman had an obvious passion for her work, and a belief in "doing the right thing." So, even in this insane, chaotic world, good things happen.

p.s. Oh, and the paperwork? Karen T apologized and said "don't worry, what you sent should be good enough for them-- sorry, did I scare you?" Crazy lady just laughed. Karen T had the same scary voice that crazy lady used to have, when she worked for Corporate America.

Warning...Graphic Medical Drama

So, as many of you already know, crazy lady has been through some serious medical angst. She went to the doctor with a follow-up for bad carpal tunnel in September-- and left with the collapse of her cervical spine, bone growths, spinal cord compression, edema and lesions (for those who don't speak medical, that means "big, bad sores on her spinal cord"). Every appointment gives her more bad news. Crazy lady is coming to terms with the "no matter what, you will go paralyzed from the neck down," and she is taking steps to prepare for her future. That includes my awesome certification as a service and medic alert dog:Unfortunately, her preparation also includes applying for permanent disability. Apparently, it took the powers-that-be over 6 years to find the correct diagnosis. Too late for treatment, at this stage. Possible surgery, but very bad (scary) odds. She does not blame anyone for the delay-- they were focused on her other life threatening issues, and this problem "slipped their minds." Shit happens. The need for disability, however? Very real. It's the first time she has even had to consider applying for permanent disability. She has always taken pride in her work, no matter the treatment or illness that sidetracks her life. This time is different, though. The problem is not going away, and the current solution (replacing her entire neck with a titanium cage) means at least 18 months of rehabilitative care, where they teach her to walk, eat, and dress herself. Here is what a normal section of her spine looks like:
(pretend you are standing on top of her head, looking down the center of her neck)
The center circle is the spinal cord, and the white stuff is fluid protecting the cord. The grey bones are her spinal column, "holding" the fluid and cord together. The above picture is normal and healthy. Here's a picture of the compression and injured spots:That black thing pushing against the round spinal cord? (the center of the image) One of many growths. Bad, bad, bad. The pieces of white crap on the side of the spinal column? Bits of bone trapped in fluid. Not good. The lack of fluid protecting the spinal column? Gone. Sitting on top of her brain. Overall, a professional looks at these results and goes "holy crap, you're still walking?"Then, they look at this and go completely silent:(In case you don't know, the spinal cord should not look like it's "hanging by a thread." The cord is running down the middle of the image. It is "pinched" by bone marrow growths, reducing the cord to 5 mm, less than half its normal size. This means her central nervous system is having problems communicating to her brain.)

Yep. You now understand why she has started seeing a psychologist, right? As any human being in a crisis situation, seeing a shrink is the responsible thing to do. He is teaching her to live "one day at a time" and develop skills to manage the many unknowns in her future. Crazy lady thinks her psychologist is the best thing since the discovery of tuna melts with extra cheese and butter-baked bread.So, why the current angst? Why has she broken her promise to avoid gory details? Well, she needed to vent. The super-duper intelligent folks at the social security disability office sent her for a medical appointment, to verify that the spinal cord injury and current paralysis really exists. Because, you know, people lie. It's hard to believe numerous spine doctors, neurologists, specialists, UCSF and Stanford second opinions, and the various MRIs, CT scans, xrays, myelograms, EEGs, etc... They have to send someone with SPINAL CORD INJURIES to a doctor, to STEP ON STOOLS, REACH UP, JUMP ON 1 LEG, and WALK WITHOUT SUPPORT. You refuse? They deny your claim for disability. You actually do these tests? You sever your spinal cord and die. Take your pick.Let's just say, the appointment was not a positive experience. Crazy lady refused to do half of the crazy-ass tests they wanted her to do. She had to listen to the doctor complain that her medical records had too much information for him to absorb. Huh? She watched the medical doctor throw her cane on the floor, and refused to let her use anything for balance or support. Her spine is hanging by a thread, remember? This medical professional really had no understanding of spinal cord injuries. He insisted "stretching your hands, reaching up to the sky, it's a good thing for your spine." Crazy lady honestly stared at him and asked, "You did read the neurologist report, right? Stretching my spine like that? It will cause my death." Afterwards, she took a pain pill and called the disability examiner's office to make it very clear: "You do not send someone with spinal cord injuries to this doctor. He will kill them."

The part that truly stinks is that they now have grounds for denying her claim. No disability means delaying her surgery. The longer she waits, the worse the prognosis. Crazy lady normally doesn't use my blog to rant about injustice-- but, just this once, she felt the need to share. She has received some fabulous, wonderfully supportive emails from old and new friends. She has kept pretty quiet about the crap because, well...what do you say? She wants people to know that their letters and calls are incredibly uplifting, especially during these moments when she gets frustrated because...

The "system" truly sucks.

Amen.

An undignified response

Ah, drama. What can I say? I live with a drama queen, and she has been going through a bit of personal hell, right now. I feel her angst and have been providing the necessary comfort. It's pretty amazing how sensitive we are to our human's feelings. They're depressed? We snuggle. They're in pain? We snuggle. They're joyful? We play, followed by snuggle. I know some folks have been asking, "what's up with crazy lady?" To make a very long story short and sweet (because I AM NOT A DRAMA QUEEN), crazy lady is not having surgery. She's decided to give treatment a chance, for 6 months. The docs made it clear that the surgery would NOT fix the damage to her spinal cord. The surgery has a 33% chance of "stabilizing" her spinal cord for a little while; and a 67% chance of failure. Failure includes paralysis from the neck down and a feeding tube-- so, NO. Not now. She's giving treatment and alternate therapies a chance. She's also trying to make peace with the fact that the current damage is permanent, and she will be wearing a neck brace and carrying a cane for a long, long time.Crazy lady has decided that this blog is about ME, and not her illness, treatment and angst. Instead, she plans to create (yet another) blog about her journey. The docs have asked her to keep a video diary, so they can monitor her progress over time. She figured, "what the hell? I might as well write about it, too." She'll post a link to her new blog, once it is up & running. Be forewarned, though-- crazy lady holds nothing back. You will be blessed with the gory details, if you decide to read about the new crapola in her life. I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile, please try to avoid the "keep a positive mind" sentiment, if you leave a comment. It really pisses her off, these days. She's having a hard time finding something positive about a 5 mm spinal cord "hanging by a thread" in her neck. If you're looking for a perky and positive response to her current crisis, I suggest you read a different blog. I mean, geez-- this woman writes horror for a living! She would appreciate sick and twisted humor, though...

Sick dog

Goose poop is deceitful. For something so delicious, so flavorful, so amazingly tasty, it is demon spawn and most likely related to those evil ones (cats). I've been good for weeks. I drop ("out") the poop that accidentally lands in my mouth, and "leave it" when I'm caught eying the tempting morsels. I would sneak a piece, but what's the harm? Heck, there are dogs who graze and consume gallons of bird waste, with no problems. Me? One little piece, and I spend 4 days pacing and whining because of constant diarrhea and tummy cramps. For three solid nights, crazy lady would take me outside every hour. Neither of us slept. The vet (and test results) said it was due to bad bacteria from the goose poop. The antibiotics are helping; and crazy lady has been giving me warm baths to reduce the muscle cramps. I eat the bland chicken and white rice, and stare at my friends playing in the park. No fun for me (or crazy lady) this week.

Secret stash

Crazy lady has a fondness for frogs. She has done zero, zippo, nada work this month because of the pneumonia. Every hour of wakefulness has resulted in at least 6 hours of nap time. She is no fun, but slowly feeling better. This morning, she was more alert than usual, and was able to catch-up on her bills. The tax collector waits for no one... anyhow, she noticed that some of her stuffed frogs were missing from her desk. After a brief search, she found them in my secret stash...
She scowled and said "just keep them safe, Sugar-pie. It's nap time for mama."

Too Gay?

Crazy lady finally woke-up this morning WITHOUT A FEVER. She's still exhausted and sleeping all day & night, but no fever means that there is upcoming relief from the infections-that-won't-go-away. She received the above video as a Friday pick-me-up, and wanted to share...enjoy!

Story time

Crazy lady is still sick, and spends most of her days sleeping. The Princess and her mom came over today, to play with jewels and read some books. I ate a special snack, watched them play-- then stole ALL of the stuffed animals from the room, when they weren't looking! It was an excellent, devious day.

Treating colds

Tinderbell's mom Judy W sent crazy lady the following words-of-wisdom, to help with her cold. Judy W said, "I got the above insights after surviving an acute upper respiratory viral infection while living in Maryland last winter." I thought her advice was great (especially the positive visualization, hint, hint) and wanted to share...

1. STAY AWAY FROM PEOPLE, even if they are healthy. Healthy people carry germs/bacteria. But they are healthy b/c their immune system is strong and can suppress the bacteria/virus. Whereas yours is weak and healthy people's germs/bacteria can jump on you and exert their detrimental effect b/c your immune system is already weak and cannot soldier/buffer the attack.

2. You must consume extra protein (meat, eggs). They help rebuilt the system that is being digested by the cold. I think I ate 6 eggs in one meal or the equivalent of 4 chicken thighs. MEAT/PROTEIN---I cannot stress the importance of these substances! Your appetite might be down, but that is when you need to consume meat/protein/quality food the most!!

3. Rest. When you sleep, your body can re-focus all its energy on fighting the cold.

4. I hope you have been swallowing vitamin C and vitamin B6 pills. They really help too. Make sure in to increase your dosage.

5. Have a friend walk Sugar. Though I am in the Carribeans right now, I understand (well, maybe not) how cold it can be in Boston. I visited Boston but lived in NYC/up state NY/Maryland during cold seasons. It seems like every time I go out in the cold, my cold worsens. But If you must walk Sugar yourself, cover all parts of your body except your eyes.

6. There will be a time when you seem to be getting better, but that is not an excuse to think you are healthy again. Your body is still very suspectible to another infection. (Speaking from personal experience)...continue exercising caution and the above advice.

7. Cold medication can help to some extend, but they do not really cure your cold. You need to boost your innate body's immune system--eating, resting, and yes, laughing. When one laughs (eg. talk on the phone) or think pleasant thoughts (eg. your adorable niece), one's body releases a hormone that helps with recovery--- cannot think of the precise name right now. Or just to think about the fun things you get to do when your cold is away--- shopping, socializing with friends, traveling, and dining out, etc.

8. Keep telling yourself that you will get well and you will see an improvement in your health.