Holly Northrop Blog

In what was not just a road trip, but also a road trip highlighting one of Martha's worst phobias, Saturday, overall, was as much of a bitch as we all knew she could be. Saturday actually started late Friday night when I packed the Jeep to the ceiling with all of Jasmine's crap. Packing a car like that is the equivalent of three-dimensional Tetris or, depending upon your headspace, the cube puzzle box from Hellraiser. Without a seat for me, it all fit—even the easel. As much as I wanted to go, the chance to deep clean the apartment seemed more alluring to me anyway.

So before dawn even cracked, Martha and Jasmine headed west across the great state of Pennsyltucky, destination: Jasmine's new apartment.

The drive was uneventful and Martha made great time. Over six hours later, they pulled into The Apartment Store parking lot and Jasmine ran in and got her keys. All very exciting stuff. They then grabbed Patrick, (Jasmine's roommate) and unloaded the Jeep. Then, Martha and Jasmine drove across town, out on the edge of the boonies to the storage area where the rest of Jasmine's crap was waiting for them. At this point, things got ugly.

At some point during the summer, Jasmine's storage room had become infested with spiders. Over the phone I heard varying accounts but my guess is that there were between one-million and one-billion spiders, (including egg sacks) all over Jasmine's, clothes, books, TV and knick-knacks. Martha said there were cobwebs ALL OVER everything. Martha is afraid of spiders. Like run right out into traffic afraid. She and I have an insect arrangement. She kills the flying bugs that unfortunately find a way into our apartment and I kill the crawling ones. This is an important point within any relationship. You have to know who is going to deal with the bugs.

But this was beyond any agreement and besides, I wasn't there. So they had to suck it up, wipe off what they could and load up the Jeep with boxes that looked like they came out of The Munsters prop department. Sounds like fun, so glad I missed it. I would have rather sucked cat litter out of all the little nooks and crannies of our apartment.

After the spider thing, they went to the bookstore to pick up Jasmine and Patrick's books. While they waited in a line with all the other spiders, err —I mean students, plans for the Wal-Mart trip came together. According to Martha, Wal-Mart did not disappoint in its hourly shot of adrenaline to the local economy. One billion spiders, one billion students and one billion Wal-Mart shoppers buying carts full of crap made in China.

After that, they then went to the carwash and vacuumed out the inside of the Jeep so that no little spider could climb up Martha's jeans during the drive back home, causing her to veer off the road and fly off a Pocono mountain top.

Anyway, Jasmine is in and she is officially a junior. Christ. This year not only does she have an apartment but a hefty course load. Combine that with almost no money and we will see what we get. Shaken not stirred, I'm praying for good grades.

Last Thursday and Friday, I went back to work. It was over 90º both days and I thought I was going to choke to death right there on the fucking sidewalk in front of The Gap. The first day, Jazz walked me to work, turned around, went back to New Jersey to the dentist to have two cavities filled, then came back to The Voice, and sat next to me for three hours until it was time for me to leave. She was my very own personal bodyguard and honestly, I was glad she was there. Thursday did not even mark two weeks since the surgery so I was a little nervous about it all. Friday was more difficult for me and I was alone that day. Whatever, I have exactly one week to get back up to speed because they are closing my subway stop and I will have to walk at least 5 blocks (ish) out of my way until February (06). Some kind of horseshit subway construction at the Cortlandt street stop that totally fucks with all of our lives starting August 20th.

SHIT, PISS & LAUGHTER
After Martha and I saw The Aristocrats, we went to the grocery store where we proceeded to make our own version of the joke while walking the isles of suburbia. Our slant, involved two over forty lesbians in debt up to their eyeballs and desperate for college money, seek a life of extracurricular Carney activities with their "gifted" 21-year-old daughter and two lesbian cats, one of whom has a crusty butt. Oh man, that movie is so funny I laughed almost the entire way through it - something that I have not done in ages. I felt like I was 10 and it was probably the most cathartic thing to happen to me since I rode a bike with a basket.

PROCLAMATIONS
"I refuse to fear September," said Martha and I thought, okay, sure, why worry about it? No one knows just how it is going to go, so, fuck it! Good approach to a yearly issue. Why ruin August with worry? Good and bad shit does seem to happen all year long. Just because the ninth month marks the end of Virgo and the beginning of Libra and we move from Earth to Air, Mutable to Cardinal and Mercury to Venus, not ALL that seasonal shit really means beans. Right?

At least Mercury will finally be out of retrograde soon. Jesus.

CLEANING HOUSES
Jasmine leaves in two weeks and although I cannot make the drive again this year because she has so much shit she needs my seat, I do get to clean the apartment. Believe it or not, I am excited about scrubbing it all down. We all have been living real strange in this tiny apartment with me being sick and Jasmine's constant hoarding and it will be nice to sterilize and spread out. Martha and I will get our living room back and I will have my office. Oh happy day.

It is time to move the creative therapy magnet on the fridge off of the "Freaking Out", slot (which Jazz drew in special for this house) back to the "Love Struck" slot, its permanent place.

CHOCOLATE SEX
Melissa sent me a box of crazy SoHo Chocolates from Kee's Chocolates and Martha and I sat in bed on Sunday and snorted half the box while Jasmine was at work. It was awesome and better than a good number of the drugs I have done. This place (Kee's) makes clever stuff but the good ones are fantastic. The Thai Chili was strange but I had to spit out the Passion Fruit. So many others were beyond yummy. Coconut, Almond, Hazelnut, you know the usual suspects but it was fun to try the intimidating ones. I am still holding out on the Balsamic one though. It was like stoner stuff. You know, "Hey man I wonder what pepper and dark chocolate would taste like rolled into a ball and sprinkled with Allspice?". This place is so off the wall that they drew out by hand the chocolate chart. Thank you Melissa, you rock.

WOW. Okay THAT was so fucked up. Surgery is no joke, not that I thought it was and just in case I happened to forget all the little frightening parts from Jasmine's birth, all those years ago, this whole adrenal thing slammed it all back home for me. Abdominal surgery is fucked up no matter how you look at it. Just because they drilled four little holes in my belly (laparoscopic surgery) instead of a nice and lumpy eight inch, incision does not mean that they treat the insides any differently.

Jesus Christ, I feel like my gut has been used as a bowl for scrambling eggs in. And the eggs were my innards and wolves ate the resulting omelet.

Oh, but let's talk about the drugs.

I was on Dilaudid ® every three hours for three solid days. To sum that up so we can all better understand the level of pain here, that is 24 shots of synthetic heroin every three hours over a seventy-two hour period. Some would call that "the Mother load" and I would be one to agree with that observation. Now, a great many of those hours, that delicious drug was the only thing that kept me from passing out from the shear pain in my back, shoulders and neck. For two days, I was so fucked up that I could not see past my nose. I displayed in front of my partner, daughter and best friend just about every revolting thing a human body can do except shit the bed. The only reason I didn't do that, was because all opioid-based narcotics cause constipation - thank God. Poor Jasmine, she not only witnessed me crying, an act upsetting all by its self, but she had the added bonus of watching me cry out in pain and seeing me naked. For her, the big mystery as to my natural redhead status has been completely answered, even though she never asked.

The reason my back was completely out of control I didn't find out until Sunday afternoon when this totally hot Anesthesiologist chick stood at the foot of my bed and explained to me just exactly what the hell they all did TO me. I have four holes in my belly. Three along the bottom starting on my left hip area and moving toward my belly button and the fourth one is very close to my left breast at the top of my rib cage and very near my diaphragm. One of the holes was used to pump large amounts of Carbon dioxide gas into my abdomen. The idea being to EXPAND my torso and get a better look around. The trouble is that we humans cannot handle large amount of C02 and in fact, too much can kill us or make us kill ourselves, which, come to think of it had I been strong enough I just might have attempted on Sunday because the pain was god awful.

Carbon Dioxide gets in the muscles and while it eventually works its way out of the body, until it is gone, it is a nightmare. Think bubbles in all of your muscles, tummy, neck, brain and all around your innards. Burping and farting are good but nothing but time moves the C02 out or your muscles. Time and a whole bunch of Dilaudid to pass those days away.

Now, I was dealing with a weekend staff at the hospital so you know things didn't move as snappy as they do Monday- Friday. The night shift was probably the worst and the first night there was fucking horrible. I had to insist, through tears, that the fucking nurse give me a catheter. She was hesitant because they didn't give me one in surgery so why would I need one now. The doctor she was trying to reach wasn't calling back and my bladder was so full that it was making me sick. Let me just say here, you know you are in a fucked up scene when you personally have to beg for a catheter. Finally, she listened to me and well, I was so fucking right and she was so fucking wrong as her nice white nursing shoes aren't so white anymore. After our little interaction that night, she pretty much stayed away from me and I hissed at her whenever she came into my room.

I had a roommate for one night, the first night, also known as catheter night, and although I never saw her nor do I know her name, I wish to apologize to her wherever she may be. That night sucked for both of us and I am so glad they let you out of the hospital the very next day. You definitely drew the short straw that night and I hope you have a great life. I am so sorry that I cried like a baby and that our night nurse sucked ass.

From then on, the karma gods saw fit to let me stay alone in a double room. It was a total score but the price was pretty high.

So now what? I am home and I have nothing to do but drugs, nap and write. We are waiting on test results and I have a slew of doctor's appointments both this week and next. Eventually, I will have to go back to work and life should return to normal. Hard to remember just what the hell normal is, but I am looking forward to finding out.