:: The S.I.C.L.E. Cell ::

my view from the prison of a SICLE (Self-Imposed Child Loss Experience) due to debilitating maternal disease
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:: Thursday, August 28, 2003 ::

Bomb goes off at abortion clinic. "Sidewalk counselors" quite possibly the target of abortion supporter violence.

:: ashli 10:43 AM # ::
:: Tuesday, August 26, 2003 ::
John Geoghan, an ex-priest who molested 150 boys, was murdered by a homophobic Neo-nazi who was already rotting in prison for murdering another gay man 15 years ago.

I wonder how the 150 people molested by John Geoghan received the news of his death. Were they outraged that the man who used their youth and weakness to violate them was killed? Will they begin a letter campaign demanding justice for their molester? Or will they feel relieved that a man, who caused them so much pain, suffered and died like a pig? Is the neo-Nazi who killed their attacker despised by them or do they secretly or even openly appreciate his hate-filled action? In the future, how will they feel when other child molesters are destroyed? Will they be removed? Will they be outraged? Or will they feel a sense of justice? Would anyone blame them if they did (feel a sense of justice)?

Yes, I know the situations somewhat differ, but how do women hurt by abortion feel when abortionists are murdered? How many of them despise Paul Hill? And how many of them are buying files to bake into a cake for the man?

What is one wounded person expected to feel that another wounded person is not allowed to feel?

:: ashli 8:50 AM # ::
:: Sunday, August 24, 2003 ::
I met "Murf the Surf" today. For those of you too young to recognize that name, he participated in the biggest jewel heist in history. (In '75 Hollywood made a movie about this entitled "Murf the Surf".) Three years later, story has it, he took two Florida girls skiing and both of them ended up dead. He got two life sentences and inhabited a dark death row cell just down the hall from "Ol' Sparky". He goes to prisons now and tells the inmates about his sordid past and how Jesus Christ changed all that and gave him a future. It's interesting to note that 7 out of 10 ex-cons end up back in prison whereas less than 10% of those who become Christians and get hooked up with a church return to prison.

Anyway, the sermon today included a blurb about Paul Hill, the guy who shot an abortionist and his security guard here in Florida. Our pastor knew Paul Hill at one time, because Paul was a Presbyterian minister with the PCA. His crime was denounced, and those of you who got a glimpse of my quickly deleted post about the van trip from hell will understand that all of us who had been in the van were flabberghasted that this subject was on the menu.

The subject of Paul Hill has sparked a personal interest in graded absolutism, something I knew nothing about until I started arguing it in the van.

I digress...

Murf the Surf, known for his charisma, was a dynamic speaker and after church I had to meet him. I found myself inspired or encouraged by the message of hope he shares with other murderers on death row. I told him it touched me, and he immediately wanted me to join the prison ministry team.

When Murf went to prison his kids came up to his knee. When he got out they were over six feet tall. He has seen his 45-year-old son get married and takes an annual ski trip with him.

However, no matter how much any of us recovers from the trauma of abortion, we will never see our lost children marry, and we certainly won't get to take them skiing.

I wanted to tell Murf that I was already working in a women's prison, where every inmate is incarcerated in a SICLE cell for life with no chance of parole. Instead I smiled and went to lunch, thankful that today I can eat without exchanging a child's life for the ability.

:: ashli 9:00 PM # ::
Florida Supreme Court: Insanity-R-Us

:: ashli 9:15 AM # ::
:: Friday, August 22, 2003 ::
Last night my son came out of the bathroom crying.

"You threw me away!" he wailed.

Nervously I said, "What do you mean I 'threw you away'?! Mommy would NEVER hurt you."

Still crying he answered, "You threw one away that looked just like me!"


"What do you mean? I don't understand!"

He ran into the bathroom and fished a paper out of the trash. It was a mailing with a child's picture on it. He was offended and hurt that I would throw away even a picture of a child that looked like him.

He doesn't know the half of it.

:: ashli 9:16 AM # ::
:: Tuesday, August 19, 2003 ::
Tori Amos sings a song entitled "God" I received a copy of this from a mom with a SICLE who experiences the anger that many of us can connect with at times when we think of our own poor choices and wonder why God didn't save us (and our children) from ourselves. I in no way mean to condemn this mom, because sometimes, I admit, my depression can send me into a funk and I get mad at God for "singling me out" to get an illness so bad that it would make my husband and I take our 15-week-old baby to an abortion clinic. But there is a reality check, and the finger always ends up pointing away from God and directly at me.

I'm going to publish the letter I wrote with a disclaimer that this is only what I understand to be true about God. This is my supposing and in no way a claim that this IS "100% God - believe it or burn in hell." I am not a Bible scholar but only a seeker. If you feel something is amiss, I am interested in what you have to say. Email me.

Here's the letter:

"Don't envy me. I don't know that I will definitely see my baby again, but I do have hope, and I know that I wouldn't even have that without God.

You and I have the same taste in music. I was listening to a Tori Amos CD when my dad was in the other room dying of cancer and I was 19 years old. My mother died of cancer four years later. I was an orphan by 25. Then I killed my first child in the second trimester because of an illness. Then I miscarried my second child on Christmas after suffering from the disease. Then they told me my third child had Down syndrome (after again suffering so much from the disease). [He didn't have Down's but I thought he did for 18 weeks of staring at a wall thinking about it.] Where is God when the wind blows? I have felt that way many times in my life.

In the last few years I have wanted to know the answer to that question more than ever before, and I have been doing what anyone who wants an answer does: seeking. I found a church quite by accident. I've never been in a denomination before, but these cats were Presbyterian. I went and the preacher was my age (32). He was hip and really good. I started reading the Bible again, but I was a different person now, so it was like the first time. Verses I never understood before started opening up to me because of what I had been through. I started to understand that God has always been there for me, just like in that sappy "footprints" poem. The thing was... I was not there for God.

Now I'm going to tell you something that I hesitate saying, because I don't want to hurt you AT ALL. But I want you to consider your partnership with God who never forces you to make all decisions according to His will but allows you to choose your own response. This is not to say that God is "pro-choice" in the way that "religious" abortion supporters claim. Their claim extends to morality; they say that the goodness or badness of abortion is also your decision. That is not true, as God has many things to say that relate to abortion.

In your situation, was it God who abandoned you? Did God leave you without any word on what you should do? Or did you abandon Him ignoring what He told you about children and life?

"Today I have given you the choice between life and death, between blessings and curses. I call on heaven and earth to witness the choice you make. Oh, that you would choose life, that you and your descendants might live!"
Deuteronomy 30:19

"Children born to a young man
are like sharp arrows in a warrior's hands.
How happy is the man whose quiver is full of them!
He will not be put to shame when he confronts his accusers at the city gates."
Psalm 127:4-5

"Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him."
Psalm 127:3

"I knew you before I formed you in your mother's womb."
Jeremiah 1:5a

"Rescue those who are unjustly sentenced to death; don't stand back and let them die."
Proverbs 24:11

These are just a few of the things God said to you (and me and all of us) in relation to abortion. To summarize the above, from the start God was telling you:

*Abortion is available, but don't do it. Choose life so your kid will live and so your health won't be risked.
*Children are a blessing, and they will enrich your life.
*Children are a gift from Me. Look upon them as a reward (i.e., love, honor, respect and cherish them).
*Your Creator created your child.
*Do what you can to prevent the deaths of the innocent.

These are not only your truths and your convictions, they are mine, so I'm not spewing something at you that I am not guilty of myself.

Just yesterday I read a post from a woman with terrible HG. She suffered and suffered, but she had her child, did not kill him, as I killed mine, to rid myself of the horrible suffering. One of the differences between she and I was that she clung to the Bible and read over and over again the verse that says God formed you in your mother's womb. That sustained her because she practiced her faith, and it was not dead to her. SHE BELIEVED and God was able to use her faith to get her through.

When I was pregnant for the first time I thought I was a Christian, but my faith was as dead to me as my parents. The Bible was just words on pages, a daily affirmation of sorts, something to be purchased at a "Hallmark" store for a "General Foods International Cafe Vienna" moment. The Bible stuff I didn't like, I tossed. The stuff I did like, I couldn't cling to as anything particularly special, because the whole thing meant so little to me that I felt I had the authority to gut it in the first place. The assistance was there, but it couldn't help me from my trashcan.

"For he gives his sunlight to both the evil and the good, and he sends rain on the just and on the unjust, too."
Matthew 5:45b

Bad things will happen in this life, and God doesn't prevent them from happening to YOU, but HE GETS YOU THROUGH THE BAD TIMES through your faith in Him. At least, this is the way I understand it today.

So the real question you have to ask yourself is:
Is it God who disappears when the wind blows or is it your faith?

Lastly, Tori Amos' god disappears because her god is herself. She's also a flaming abortion supporter who has this to say about abortion:

“The fragility of it is amazing. It’s such a mystery—where these souls come from and where they go. Of course, I’m still pro-choice—you have to believe in the independence of women. But sometimes I wonder whether women are aware of their huge responsibilities.”

As you can see, abortion is what SHE wants it to be. Feminism is what SHE wants it to be. God is who SHE wants Him to be. In reality however, God does not conform this way. Tori is so mad at her god for seemingly hating women, but God is only a personal idea to her. He has no authority over her, no philosophy over her own, His affinity for human life plays second fiddle to the "independence of women". Tori's god is not really the One true God at all. She does what she wants to do and then blames God for the fallout. That explains fully the reason why she thinks God leaves when the wind blows. And it makes you wonder why she continues to cling to the god of her invention. She can't bring herself to accept truth that she cannot understand or is personally not happy with.

I guess sometimes it's just easier to complain.


:: ashli 8:59 AM # ::
:: Monday, August 18, 2003 ::
I got this email from Patte and am reprinting it with permission. When you read it, you will understand why the SICLE cell does not get weekly updates from her. We tried, but there was just no way.

Patte is a "sidewalk counselor" at the abortion clinic where I lost my child at 15 weeks due to HG. She was there the day I destroyed my child. SEVEN YEARS later she is still there trying to help women, children and families.

Patte is her own person, and sometimes she is met at the clinic by a group of other abortion opposers who have their own ideas about how to approach women, what to do, what to do and say. I've seen them in action, and I have to say I don't agree with some of their approaches. However, I'm not doing ANYTHING but sitting here at home on my big comfy butt distributing my "pearls of wisdom" regarding something I'm not personally willing to do.

Once I told Patte: "You guys should do this, this and this... and totally cut this, this and that out completely, because people just think it's nuts." To which she replied, "Sounds reasonable. Be sure to let us know how it goes at your local abortion clinic so we can make changes based on what did and didn't work for you." Touche. She was absolutely right of course.

So as you read her email try and remember that if you have a gripe about the way they are doing things, they are always willing for you to try it your way at your local clinic and report back to them. As for me and my big mouth, I'm just grateful I get to sit here on my tuffet and reap the priviledges of her hard work.

Here's the email with identifying information changed to protect the people involved:

"I don't have a spare minute . . .
*This the week that my husband's school begins again
*and my boy starts college.
*With Betsy,
*Markie (another young lady I am helping who is 20 weeks pregnant and in serious crisis!),
*Belinda (a friend whose baby suffered brain death in the hospital just two days after birth),
*regular ministry (I desperately need to assemble dozens more ministry packets),
*finding housing in Dublin for our son who is heading off to college there,
*a meeting with the FDLE to prepare for on Thursday, and
*my sister (the one who placed her son, my nephew, for adoption) coming to visit from Boston . . .
I am in a whirlwind.

Anyway, as you requested, here is the email update I sent out. You can have it for your blog. Remember THIS IS ONLY ONE DAY OF MINISTRY. I HAVE HAD TWO OTHER DAYS OF MINISTRY THAT I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO WRITE UPDATES ON! Every single ministry day (since I've been back) we've helped convince at least one mom not to abort.)
Saturday, 16 August, 2003

When I arrived on the sidewalk outside Orlando's most notorious abortion
clinic it was still dark. It was 6:30 am and I could barely make out the
shadowy figures of three people on the sidewalk. I was glad to see that
it was Bud, my missionary companion of many years. He was standing with
Theresa and her mother, who had driven over 1 and a half hours to get to Orlando
Women's Center before daylight. Theresa and her mom were casual and friendly.
Theresa explained that she'd ended her baby's life over 3 weeks before and
was only there for a "check-up". I pressed our ministry packet into her
hands anyway, explaining how incredible the tiny life in the womb is. I
also gave her the special pamphlet that I wrote . . . the gospel for
women who kill and we talked for a good ten minutes. About life, about
adoption, about the horror of abortion.

It wasn't long before one car after another pulled up to the abortion
clinic. Women and men piled out of their vehicles. Bud and I tried our
best to reach everyone with our offer of help, but there were just too

I was very frustrated not to be able to communicate with a Haitian woman
in her native Creole. (I have been begging my Haitian friends to come to
the clinic with me.) She was more than willing to listen, but I couldn't
make myself understood, so I mostly pointed to the photos of the
developing babies.

Bud and I were very encouraged and thankful to see our dear prayer
warriors assemble across the street from the clinic at 7am. John, Shelly
and Mary began to pray the rosary. Mary got down on her knees.

Bob & Cindy were happy to stop and speak with me, but Cindy only
spoke Spanish. (I have been begging my hispanic friends to join me too!) I took out my prompt card and read to Cindy:
*Tango algo para ti . . . I have something for you. ( I handed
Cindy our spanish ministry packet.)
*Es muy importante . . . It's very important.
*Puedo ayudarla! . . . We can help you!
*Este es un sitio de muerte . . . This is a place of death.

Bob explained to me that they were married and had come for a
pregnancy test. They weren't sure what they would do if it turned out
Cindy was pregnant. Sadly, no crisis pregnancy center is open at 7am
and they didn't want to wait til True Life Choice opened at 9:30am so
they went inside.

Dozens more poured into the clinic. Most refused to take our material.
Things went from bad to worse.

Bud and I approached an SUV jammed with five people, two men and three
women. As they parked, I gave them an information packet and offered to
be a help for the woman who was aborting. One of the men shouted at us,
"I wish I had a gun!"

Before long there were at least 15 men and women sitting on the stoop of
the abortion clinic hurling taunts and profanities at Bud and I. We had
three lit cigarettes thrown at us. The crowd began exchanging stories,
telling jokes, mocking us. At one point the man who'd said that he wished
he had a gun pointed to the poster that I display on my Jeep. It's a
disturbing image of a real baby aborted at 10 weeks gestation. Referring
to the aborted baby, he said something that I will never forget:

"I'd like to eat that motherfucker!"

Although we've heard comments like this before, we never get used to it.
For a moment there was a hush in the crowd. Then he said:

"Well... I'm hungry!"

A stifled chuckle followed, then everyone was laughing. As I
rushed to get my video camera (I have begged to have someone come and film
our ministry times) I asked him: "Would you be willing to repeat what you
just said on video?" When I came back and turned my camera towards him,
everyone was up in arms. "You can't film us without our permission!"
"There are minors here!" "If you put that camera on me I'll beat the
living shit out of you!" The man who'd made the comment about the
aborted baby ran into the clinic to get the police officer/security
guard. I was suprised. I really thought he WANTED the
attention a video camera would give him.

A pretty young girl said: "Why don't you go somewhere and protect real
people? My aunt was gunned down on the street!" When I said: "Now YOU can
do something to prevent an innocent person from being murdered," her
mother had to hold the pretty girl back. The pretty girl screamed,

"I WANT to kill this baby . . .
I have a right to kill my baby!"

I explained to the laughing, mocking crowd (a carnival atmosphere is very
common outside the clinic) how different the scene would be when the
abortion was done. All of the aborted women would be bleeding and weak
before the slow crawl to their cars. Theresa, who had said she was only
there for a check up, took her cue from the angry crowd and said:

"I don't care, I'll be all fucked up by then anyway."

She laughed and then went on to say:

"Hey, if these babies are going to heaven anyway, why not just help them
along the way?!!!"

The young girl spoke up again:

"Don't you see that you are just
wasting your time? Nobody is listening to you. You are not changing
anybody's mind. You are just making a fool of yourself."

That's when it happened. Doug and Mindy pulled up in front of the
clinic. Bud spoke with them and was very concerned and came to get me. I
looked into Doug's frightened eyes as he said:

"She is so sick. She can't take it anymore. I don't know what to do. The doctors
have not been helping her."

Poor Mindy was bent over in the back seat, vomiting into
a plastic tub. Her face was covered with perspiration. Mindy didn't
take a breath without moaning in pain. When her eyes met mine, I saw
desperation. I said: "Mindy, have the doctors told you that you have
hyperemisis gravidarum?" A look of recognition came to her lovely but contorted
face. She nodded: "YES!" As Doug ran a cool, moist cloth down his precious
wife's arms he explained that Mindy had been suffering like this for
the entire 16 weeks of her pregnancy. She vomited 24-hours a day and had
been hospitalized for dehydration and malnutrition several times already.
Doug introduced me to his young son, who suffers from a syndrome that keeps
him from speaking.

"Our little boy, he needs us. He requires a lot of care. My wife can hardly
lift her head. How can she care for our son? I know that abortion is
awful, but I love my wife and I can't stand to see her suffer."

I looked Mindy in the face and assured her that I understood how sick she was.
"I'm so sorry that you are suffering the way you are. Hyperemesis is a
horrible disease of pregnancy. I have a dear friend who suffered like
you. She explained to me what a nightmare it is to have this disease. You
are miserable and you can't stand it any more." Mindy looked like a
frightened animal. She stared at me in desperation:

"Yes, yes! I can't take this . . . I can't take it. Please, I MUST go through with the

She began to moan and beg Doug to take her inside the clinic.
She lay out flat on the back seat of the van. Over and over she moaned
and begged, clutching her abdomen. It was so hard to watch, and I felt so
helpless. Although Doug didn't want her to have an abortion, I understood
why he had brought her to that place.

I wanted to help Mindy. I wanted to make her pain go away, but I
couldn't. I stretched out my hand and laid it on her outstretched legs.
"Oh please, Lord . . . I am begging You to reach out and touch Mindy.
Help her, Lord, I pray! Soothe her pain and ease her nausea and vomiting.
Give her rest, we pray, O Lord Jesus!" I could feel Mindy's body begin
to relax. The moaning stopped. She began to rest. I was then able to
explain some of the ways that we could provide help for her. I promised
Mindy that Sanctuary Ministries would put together a caring team of
people to help at home. Someone to clean the house, look after their son,
someone to prepare a few meals for Doug and their son, someone to wash and
brush her hair, someone to CARE.

A phone call to a high risk OB specialist at a local hospital, my friend
who suffered from hyperemisis gravidarum (HG) and to Life Savers
ministry to get started on a care team and we were on our way. Doug and
Mindy left the abortion clinic, headed to the ER at the advice of our
good OB. My HG friend was able to talk to Doug by phone and assured him that
in taking Mindy away from the abortion clinic, he had done the right thing.
My friend told him: "Hyperemesis ends, but abortion never does."

Doug kept saying over and over again how grateful he was that we were
there at the clinic when they pulled up. He senses that God is the One
who has orchestrated our meeting. Doug is rejoicing. He keeps saying:
"God saved our child at the eleventh hour!"

Now the labor of love begins. Hyperemesis is a grim reality for some
unfortunate pregnant women. It is debilitating, devastating and
relentless and it only ends when the woman is no longer pregnant. (My HG friend
has compared the hellish pain and sickness of HG as: "Chemo on crack.")
The temptation to abort will continue to be a problem. Mindy's mother
is working on a visa to come over from their native country, but it may
take some time. This family needs our compassion and "hands-on", "Good
Samaritan" love for our neighbor NOW! Mindy and Doug live in ***
but Mindy is going to be needing special care at *** on a
regular basis throughout her pregnancy. In fact, she is probably being
admitted for bedrest and IV med and fluid as I type this to you.

Would you be willing to visit Mindy at ***?

Men: Would you be
willing to be a friend to her dear husband Doug?

Men and Women: Would you
be willing to spend a day with their precious son?

What began as a morning of ugliness ended in beauty. It's true that
Orlando Women's Center is

"un sitio de muerte",

a place of death - but it's also true that the
Lord comes with us to make 1103 Lucerne Terrace a place of LIFE and HOPE!
Jesus makes a way where there is no way, He lights the darkness . . . and
it is nothing short of a miracle.

From the Heart,
Patte Smith"

:: ashli 2:00 PM # ::
:: Sunday, August 17, 2003 ::
Abortion: Woman against woman... for women!

The author of "The Myth..." wrote back saying that she couldn't respond because I am being "completely irrational." I "haven't responded appropriately or logically to anything" and my "answers are close to gibberish", so she deemed the conversation "pointless to continue".

She gives me some of her abortion-supporting papers to read but adds that she fears it won't help, because I "appear to be too far gone". She goes on to say I'm "incapable of listening to or understanding" any view that differs from my own, particularly the "pro-choice" view. She expresses that I'm a "good fascist" and advises me that it's a "very dangerous road to go down"
(A thinly veiled threat?)

The writer implores me to be like her and "take responsibility for your abortion". In another reference to terrorism, I am informed that my abortion-related "anger and insecurity feeds fanaticism and terrorism". Finally, in what has become the tactical "ace up the sleeve" of every "at-a-loss" abortion-supporter she recommends that I "get a life" and "seek professional help". When I hear those magic words I am somehow overcome with pity for the utterer. S/he's standing there with nothing; it's all s/he has left. And when the speaker is a female abortion supporter who has a SICLE... well you have to understand how threatening she deems the information.

Let's sort out a response. She fancies herself a writer; there were lots of very snappy comebacks I could have made re: responsibility, journalistic integrity and terrorism just to name a few. But it serves no purpose, and we're talking about a woman who has lost a child in an abortion and is dealing with it by helping others experience the same thing. We are talking about a mother who is hurting and thinks embracing the pain means embracing abortion.

Is it more important that I lob a few zingers her way to score a punitive point for "our side"? Is it the point that counts or the woman? Isn't it more important that I let her know I care about her pain?

Feminism 101.

For those of you who were spinning your gears for a good lambaste, you and I are learning to be compassionate together. (I know... it's disappointing, because I really am a terrific pig when I want to be.) However, for those of you who know how to act and understand/appreciate the vale of not repaying cruelty with cruelty, this one's for you.

My response:

"I am sorry for the loss of your child. You deserved better.

I confuse you but Serrin is an articulate woman who really says it all:


May you receive tremendous amounts of genuine compassion.


And the best, most wacky, weird and wild part is... I meant every word.

Don't look now, but I think I might be growing up.

:: ashli 9:08 PM # ::
:: Saturday, August 16, 2003 ::
Major call from Patte this morning. Another HG case showed up on Pendergraft's steps begging for physical relief. Let's blog about it on Monday.

Today let's be in grade school and do a "he said, she said". It gets a little ugly, but you know... I'm just not perfect.

Remember when I posted tidbits from the Abortion Crime Report? One abortion supporter took it upon herself to footnote the SICLE Cell in a paper entitled "The Myth of 'Pro-Abortion' Violence". I didn't exactly cotton to being used to promote such a paradoxical idea, so I wrote the writer to express that:

"I thought some of your criticisms were good re: the myriad crimes reported in the abortion crime report. However, if you want to remove crime from the discussion and speak entirely of violence, it's obvious which side is most violent.

Unlike the abortion movement the "anti-choice" movement, as you call it, is not involved in the destruction of 4,500 American children every single day.

Having lost a child in a second trimester abortion, I have to laugh at your misguided claims that abortion-related violence is a myth. Abortion IS violence. Your political orientation has no bearing on biology and fact. Science beats semantics any day.

And haven't you heard? Women deserve better than abortion.


She replied, but I mastered the debate by using MY INCREDIBLE, SUPERHUMAN "ANTI-CHOICE" POWERS!
(Read that last bit in a loud, echoing voice.)

Some "pro-life" answers to "pro-choice" arguments:

(her): "Insisting that abortion is violence simply incites anti-choice activists to commit violence against the pro-choice side. It's irresponsible - and it means you tacitly support anti-choice terrorism. "

(me): I insist abortion is violence like I insist punching someone in the face is violence.

I don't incite "anti-choice" violence, abortion incites "anti-choice" as well as "pro-choice" violence. Gee, something that incites so much violence may not be such a good thing.

Saying that I tacitly support "anti-choice" terrorism is a bit of a joke. Using your logic, I could say that your support of abortion encourages "anti-choice" violence, as abortion itself is what motivates "anti-choice" (and "pro-choice) violence. If, after digging around for a retort, THAT'S all you've come up with, you might want to reconsider your position and cause.

(her): "I looked up the word violence and it does not relate to abortion; violence is generally characterized by intensity, excess force, and unlawfulness. Which is a perfect description of anti-choice terrorism."

(me): My child was destroyed by abortion and my cervix was permanently damaged by abortion. Did you hear my abortion-supporting OB telling me that because of the abortion-related damage I would need stitches to try and keep my next "fetus" from falling out and dying on the floor in front of me? Did you see my eviscerated 15-week-old? I would say it took a little force to do that. Anything that tears an arm off or kills someone is a little excessive, wouldn't you say? And for the record, boxing is legal, but it involves violence. Just because something is legal does not mean it is not violent. See "hunting". (See "abortion".)

Also, your beloved term "pro-choice" isn't really accurate is it. You are not for the choice of raping a woman or beating a born child. You are not for the choice that the terrorists made on Sept. 11. In fact, you are anti-choice when those things are the litmus.

I, on the other hand, am totally for the choice of one's career, one's mate, one's tattoo, one's breakfast cereal. If those are the litmus then I am pro-choice. The terms you use have no merit all by themselves but on the surface they point devious fingers; They say: "me good, you bad"... they don't, however, indicate whether what you're saying is true or not. It's all about misleading semantics, baby, because that's all abortion supporters have to stand on.

(her): "Abortion might better be compared to the euthanasia of an animal - that is not considered violence either, because it's done at the behest of the owner, in a compassionate way, and in the best interests of the animal, even though the animal doesn't understand its fate, just like the fetus." (She then adds a disclaimer that she is "not suggesting a fetus is an animal of course".)

(me): Using your analogy, we could say that fatally shooting a buck in the face can be compared to fatally shooting a sleeping adult in the face. One of them is perfectly legal while the other is considered murder. So what's the difference? One is human and the other is not. Bingo.

(her): "It sounds like you have had an abortion yourself, unless I'm misunderstanding you.  If that's true, it's very convenient for you to blame the "abortion movement" for the "violence" you committed yourself against your own fetus.  "

(me): How cliche. It's just like an abortion supporter to abandon the woman.

(her): "Did they tie you down to the table?  I'm afraid I have zero respect for anti-choice women who refuse to take responsibility for their own abortions and blame others.  It's neurotic, weak, destructive, and selfish."

(me): Employ the "poor, pathetic, regretful 'Mary'" routine on someone who doesn't know any better. It's the typical abortion supporter's, unfeeling, anti-feminist, abandonment response. It's a classic reaction from people who make a bad thing possible and don't want to take any responsibility for all the trouble it causes. But let some woman say abortion "set her free", and abortion supporters everywhere are patting themselves on the back for a job "well" done.

If abortion supporters haven't done anything personally to me and my child then what are they working so hard for? Why are you personally writing papers and posting them on the Internet if you truly believe that the power of persuasion is fiction and that you have no effect on the life of anyone else? You and I both know better. And I care more about conveying the truth than earning your respect.

(her): "Women deserve better than illegal abortion.  That's why it's legal.  Haven't you heard"

(me): It's truly sad that you think women don't deserve better than abortion period. Genuine feminists usually set the bar a little higher for their "sistuhs". Women deserve the best. It's a high standard, but we're worth it.

By the way, if you have NOT lost a child in an abortion, then you have very little business trying to tell ME what it's all about.


BIFF! POW! Thwack!

Umm... I don't think "thwack" was ever actually on the old Batman series, but I sort of ran out of superhero fight sounds.

I don't think I'm going to continue with the bickering, simply because I used to BE this woman, and I know that there is absolutely nothing you can say to people like this. Of course I'm not, could never be, Serrin Foster. She sets people straight. I just piss them off.

:: ashli 5:30 PM # ::
:: Friday, August 15, 2003 ::
The subject of SICLE souvenirs has apparently taken off. With permission, an excerpt from an email I received yesterday:

"Throughout our children's lives we acquire papers and trinkets that mark the milestones of their existence.  We save these items to remind us of those moments in time.  You're right... beggars can't be choosers.  I have  a lousy paper reminder of my own.

I never felt the sense of relief after my abortion.  I was immediately wracked by ocean waves of regret and horrific guilt.  I had just killed my tiny, precious baby.  No less than any Susan Smith or Andrea Yates, I had just had my sweet innocent baby scraped out of his/her warm "safe" womb.  I felt no different than if I'd held a pillow over my living toddler's face until all breathing ceased.  Why did the police cars not come screeching to my front door?  I wished they would.  I had to pay for this murder.  I could not live with myself and I could scarcely breathe through the pain and guilt for wasting this child's entire lifetime...  There would always be that extra chair at Thanksgiving dinners, the birthdays that couldn't be,  the missing pictures on the wall...   I never stopped screaming and crying.

A friend turned me on to an abortion loss group at our local APC.  I didn't really want to go, but the founder had written a well known book on the topic and was starting a new round.  I dutifully read the book and started attending meetings.  For 9 weeks we would all gather and cry out our regrets and we would pray.  A miraculous thing happened for these other women.  They came to understand that Jesus had forgiven them, and they were allowed to move on with their lives.  Over the weeks, smiles began to replace tears.  The women began to name their babies and they excitedly initiated preparations for a memorial service in honor of their children lost to abortion.  The goal of the service was to complete this stage of "healing".  Only I was not having ANY of it.  I still wailed and wracked my guilty heart out in the meetings.  The others looked at me as though I were difficult.  I just didn't move along the healing path laid down before me.  Truth be told, I could give a shit if I were forgiven or not.  I didn't want to be forgiven.  The baby was still not in my arms, and I had still brutally murdered my own sweet flesh and blood no matter how you mix up the forgiving, the prayer and the healing intent.

The small booklet for the service is my paper trinket of my lost baby.  At the bottom of a long list of loving names like "Jason David, child of Susan" and "Breanna Annette, child of Diane", was my pathetic child's memory. "precious one, child of KLH".  I could not name this baby.  How could I presume to know the sex of this innocent child?  I had mangled him/her before I could know!  I refused to saddle the memory of some precious boy with a dippy girl name for all eternity.  I was the lone hold out.  In their eyes, I had dishonored my baby for not giving him/her a true Christian name.  Those women who had named their babies were in denial as far as I was concerned.   They left the service that day with renewed smiles and hope for their futures.  They were forgiven and they were healing.  I screamed all the way home clutching my booklet as though it were some sort of baptism announcement.  Beggars CAN'T be choosers...

And the APC still dutifully sends me requests for donations some 8 years later even through an address change.  These requests come in lieu of birthday cards for my precious one."

Another satisfied customer.

:: ashli 3:03 AM # ::
:: Thursday, August 14, 2003 ::
Emily posted about a woman who arranged for a highly symbolic "funeral ceremony" of sorts for the sonogram of her aborted child. Lots of so called "post-abortion healing" programs include a "funeral ceremony" as part of their culminating activities. It's supposed to be sort of a symbolic way to let your child go, to entrust your child to God and "heal" or "move on" somehow.

I'm big into symbolism, and very shortly after coming home from losing my child in a second trimester abortion, I was at an art gallery trying to "take my mind off of it" as was being suggested (read: "forced down my grieving throat"). In the gift shop there were Egypt/mummy related items such as a cardboard toe-pincher (retro coffin) overlain in gold leaf.

I bought the coffin and took it home where I stuffed it full of my pregnancy calendar, a gold stork pin with a baby dangling from it (a gift at 10 weeks), the blood-soaked socks I had worn during my self-imposed child loss procedure and the beautiful sonogram of my child's tiny arm waving to me at nine weeks (when I had been hospitalized for HG). I buried this coffin outside in my own "secret garden" at the edge of the woods. I prayed and cried and said goodbye.


Several months later I ran from the house, tears streaming down my cheeks, mingling with the icy rain that pelted my hot face. Through the darkness I stumbled into my secret garden, and there in the moonlight I fell on my knees pawing at the ground like a burrowing animal until I struck gold.

The coffin was gone but my searching fingers hit the shiny pin. I scoured the pit for the socks, but as I have discovered, time stops for no grieving woman, and the seasons of the spinning earth had long since devoured my bloody cotton footings. I was angry at the moist and gaping hole. It was mocking me, and I began punching it for sucking my blood away like a giant, unfeeling leech. The skin from my knuckles split open like turtle eggs, but I didn't care. The earth ate my socks, confound it! It was taking my baby from me again, just like each day carries my squalling papoose further and further away on its back. Everything was gone, but I dug anyway. If the hole got big enough I might just roll in it. On and on and eventually, paydirt.

The film was made of indestructible, unrecyclable, bad for the environment plastic, praise God. My waving child had come back to me. The text in the corner...
"Hi, Mom!" the nurse had typed. A little worse for wear from minerals and rain, the abrasiveness of soil, of earth, death and life... but my baby, from my heart into my hand. Small favors. Small and endless favors. I poured my thank you's out into the starry sky. Just me and God.

I miscarried my second child right around Christmas and had abortion-related issues. I wouldn't let my doctor take my baby. I got the third degree; the baby's dead body was at least a week dead and rotting inside me. This could cause sepsis, kill me, didn't I know? I knew. I went home.

A friend called with her dead, rotting baby/sepsis story. I wanted to be left alone. I consented.

I kind of freaked out as they were putting me under; "Don't take my baby, please don't take my baby," and that sort of thing. But I stopped just as soon as I lost consciousness. I woke up to the dull ache of another child gone and blood on the sheets. Just a small amount of blood, not a puddle, a bath, an ocean like the first time.

I made funeral arrangements and had the child blessed and interred with my mom and dad. I also had my first child's sonogram interred. No blessing for that child; it had not been allowed.

I tried the best I knew how. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I baptize you with my tears, child of my heart." I took the moisture from my eyes and drew a wet cross on the sonogram in a private moment at home. Just me and God.

Later at the cemetery, the funeral director (my old boss) took the tiny ceramic sonogram-containing box and placed it and my miscarried child on top of my mother's wooden casket, which was busting apart at the seams from the Florida humidity.

It was windy and raining. My husband didn't come. No one came. Just me and God.

Every so often I wish I still had that picture. It killed me to look at it, imagining the tiny waving hand completely obliterated with the fingers broken and bent backwards at impossible angles the way I've seen the fingers of other bloodied, aborted children. Yes, it killed me. But it was all I had, and as I said, beggars can't be choosers.

Ultimately the ceremony didn't work.

Love can't be confined in a casket or a mausoleum or even in goodbye. Love is in the heart and never minds farewell.

:: ashli 11:49 AM # ::
:: Wednesday, August 13, 2003 ::
Still trying to find the "if comfort is important to you..." cable in the waiting room Yellow Pages ad for the abortion clinic where I lost my child at 15 weeks. I kept it in a purse for years, but then my little one got to the age where he began rummaging around, and I was terrified of him finding it and asking me what it was. I remember taking it out one day and thinking I really had to put it somewhere, but for some reason I still didn't want to throw it away. I hear that a lot. People tend to hold onto things like that. Why?

Because in some small way it links us to our children. It's an awful link, but beggars can't be choosers.

:: ashli 10:28 PM # ::
Call the March of Dimes (1-888-MODIMES) and tell them they suck for covering up the fact that abortion causes a significant risk of premature delivery in subsequent pregnancies.

Better yet, email them like I did:

"I'm disappointed that the March of Dimes is not doing more to educate the public on the relationship between abortion and premature birth. Not only is the MOD not doing the best to educate the public, you all are COVERING UP this important information. Being a woman who aborted a child, a procedure which damaged my cervix and resulted in 7 months of bedrest to avoid the premature birth of my subsequent child, I passionately take issue with MOD's lack of dedication to women and children. It seems our health is important only if it doesn't conflict with the MOD's political views. SHAME ON THE MARCH OF DIMES!"

:: ashli 10:03 AM # ::
:: Friday, August 08, 2003 ::
With permission from the author, an excerpt from an email I received:

"It's 11:15 PM. I have to be up in less then 5 hours to prepare for a meeting tomorrow at work, and I can't sleep. Again. The last couple of days have been have been really hard.

I had to tell my therapist that I don't want to continue treatment because she isn't able to help me and that I'm not sure anyone can. She told me that I should consider checking myself in for "just a little while." One hundred dollars for 60 mins, once a week for the past 2 months and she tells me this. Great. I am starting to seriously reconsider a lobotomy.

I wish I could be myself again.

I'm backsliding. I 've started writing on myself and cutting myself again. I am not trying to kill myself but for those couple of seconds when I can feel my skin breaking I am not thinking about my baby.

Have you ever listened to Nine Inch Nails? Some lyrics:

" I f I could start again a million miles away I would keep myself, I would find a way."

I want to write that all over my walls along with the lyrics from "Hurt."

I don't know what to do. September is just around the corner. It would have been my child's first due date. What can I do?"

:: ashli 5:01 PM # ::
:: Thursday, August 07, 2003 ::
Without further ado...

Nearly two years ago I logged on to check my email and noticed one from Patte, the "sidewalk counselor". She talked about a girl she had met at the clinic, and the girl was from my area. I noticed that the email was addressed to several local people who are known for being big time "pro-life", one of them being the area's Right to Life president. The email included a phone number and asked if anyone would help.

I thought the number might be a fake given just to get the "pro-lifers" off the back of a girl going in for a second trimester abortion, but I called it anyway. A young girl answered, and I said, "Hey, I'm Ashli and I got your number from the lady you met on the sidewalk at OWC. Do you want to know what one of Pendergraft's second trimester abortions is like? I lost a child there and I can tell you." She wanted to know. I told her everything. Never any need to embellish; it's horrible enough on its own.

We talked for a while. She was your typical "starving" college student living away from home. Before she had gone off to college her parents told her, "No matter what you do, DO NOT come home pregnant. That's all we ask."

She said the "sidewalk counselors" were weird, that she did not appreciate the guy blocking her car door physically, and that she basically just flung her phone number at them to get away from them. I've seen them in action and it's a pretty weird situation. I don't agree with all of their methods, and I told her so. What ever they did got me her phone number though, and I asked her out to lunch.

We pigged out at Olive Garden and talked more about her parents who didn't know she was pregnant. She said, "My father will kill me," only she meant it. He had a history of mental illness, violence and crack cocaine abuse. It was totally scary. She told me her mother was a nurse and that her parents' marriage was shaky. She was worried that her pregnancy would not only get her killed but would break up her parents' marriage. The killing part was pretty valid, but the parent's marriage was not her responsibility.

She didn't have any support whatsoever. No one wanted the baby. No one but her. I pulled a "High Aldwin" and "consulted the bones." She admitted that she did have love for her child. I told her that love was worth fighting for, that she could have her baby, that she did NOT want to be me and live with what I live with and, finally, that I would help her every step of the way and beyond. Pregnancy is easy. It's what comes after the baby is born that is hard. It was important that we make plans so that she and the baby would be provided for.

Immediately she needed maternity clothes as she couldn't really fit in her jeans anymore and had spent several weeks sucking in like crazy. I took her to the local CPC who pissed me off royale when the director secretly told me that they don't help women who don't get their pregnancy confirmed at the CPC, but that she would make an exception FOR ME. I wanted to say, "Hey, I'm not the scared young woman who is pregnant here, and why the hell wouldn't you help someone who needed a friggin dress for her growing belly?!" I guess they have their reasons, but it just did not rub me the right way.

My 19-year-old friend did receive some maternity dresses that day. We sat in the clothing room as she tried on dress after dress. Her big round belly could finally be seen. It was like she finally exhaled and relaxed her tense abdominal muscles for the first time in months. She was beautiful and I told her so. She pretty much decided she would not abort her child. Pretty much.

The CPC got her some medical care ASAP, and she found out that she was six months pregnant with her daughter. She had been 23 weeks pregnant when she had gone to the abortion clinic for the second trimester abortion. She thought she had been around 19 weeks, because that's what one of the abortion clinics told her.

Her boyfriend had taken her to several abortion clinics all over Florida trying to abort their child. They went to Tallahassee, but they were too far along. Next they went to Gainesville for a late abortion, but the abortion mill was too busy doing other late term abortions to schedule them right away. They went to Jacksonville, but the folks there said the baby was 19 weeks and they didn't want to do anything that far along. Incredibly they gave her the sonogram. She showed me this sonogram. The baby was around 22 weeks at that point and you could not tell WHAT it was by looking at the sonogram. It was basically a picture of the top of the head but you couln't even tell that. It was the worst sonogram I've ever seen. I have a sonogram of my dead, 9-week-old miscarried child that shows fingers and elbows and is much better than the 19-week sonogram the abortion clinic gave her. It was ridiculous.

Next the young couple called Pendergraft's. He advertises in Yellow Pages all over Florida. At that time his ad bragged that he went all the way up to 28 weeks (out of 40). He also made sure to mention that doctors and lawyers get abortions, that it's a woman's red, white and blue right, and that it's no one else's business. The best part of his ad was the part that said something like, "If comfort is important to you, we have cable TV in the waiting room." Well thank God. When I'm aborting my baby in the second trimester I don't want to be forced to watch cruddy ol' episodes of Night Court. Give me cable or give me death! Oh wait!...

I've got one of his full page ads. I'll post it sometime so you can see that I'm not exaggerating.

Back to the girl. "Gabbi" is what we'll call her. Gabbi called OWC and Pendergraft's cronies assured her it would only be a one-day procedure. They would induce labor and she would have to give birth to the baby, but they assured her the baby would already be dead and she wouldn't have to see it. A one day procedure. She had class on Friday, and she needed to be there. OK, it was set.

Her boyfriend drove her. They rolled up to the clinic and were met by "sidewalk counselors". At first she thought they worked for the clinic, but one of them physically blocked her open car door so he could buy some time for the woman with the model to get to the car. This is a big no-no. He did it anyway and a woman showed her a model of a second trimester baby. She was horrified. The big burly boyfriend threated the guy blocking the door, and Gabbi was finally whisked off to "safety" at the back of the abortion mill where "pro-lifers" are not legally allowed to go.

Gabbi's boyfriend dropped her off telling her that he wasn't going to go in and be there for the abortion because, as he put it, he wasn't "into that scene". He was coercing her into doing it, but he personally wasn't "into" killing babies. What a guy.

When she went in, Gabbi said the building was oppressive. She said, "You could feel the evil." She's right about that, but she said she was going to do what she had to do and get the hell out of there. Then they told her she would have to stay overnight and that it was actually a two-day procedure. They had lied to her on the phone. It was no misunderstanding. It was a flat out lie. They figured that if she traveled all that way she would just stay and abort anyway. Not so. She left and planned to come back the next week.

Patte (the "sidewalk counselor") emailed Gabbi's number to many local people who oppose abortion. I thought that by the time I called her, she would feel harrassed from getting so many calls. It still pisses me off to this day to report that NO ONE else ever called her at all. Friggin "pro-lifers"! UGH!

We made fast friends, because she was so smart and funny and we were just compatible. We did stuff on a weekly basis like window shopping and going out to eat. She came over once a week and I cooked dinner. She taught me how to make some Puerto Rican dishes, to put mussles into my Paella, and we still battle over the best way to make a plantain! She called, as she still does, just to talk, because that's what friends do.

It was a rough pregnancy emotionally. At times there seemed to be some waffling. The boyfriend was verbally abusive and telling her every chance he had that having a baby was not the deal. She had promised him before they even had sex that she would abort if she ever became pregnant, and she didn't keep her part of the deal. He really resented that. She called very upset when her mother found out. She broke down and told her mom, and her mom told her horrible things for weeks. This family went to church and the mother considered herself to be a good Christian, yet she was telling her daughter to get down on her knees and pray to God for the strength to go back to the abortion clinic and birth her dead child into a bed pan. It was sick and horrible, and Gabbi called me once to ask, "Tell me why I am doing this (having the baby) again?" I asked her when she last felt the baby kick and she said "Just a minute ago." I told her, "That's why."

It was a long haul, but she did it. We were over at my uncle's house (where I clean the toilets for money, baby!) when she innocently asked, "Hey, what does it mean if you're slowly peeing yourself all night?" Slowly peeing yourself? "Uh, it means you're going to have a baby, hello!" I dropped my vacuum cleaner and we went to the OB's as quickly as possible. He poo-poo'd our claims that it was time until he did his little litmus paper test and proclaimed, "Gee, it IS amniotic fluid. See you at the hospital."

In the wee small hours of the morning a baby girl was born healthy, beautiful and very much alive. The name had been up in the air. Didn't know about the first name, didn't know about the last name... the only name Gabbi was sure about was the middle name. She told me she knew that her daughter's middle name would be Elise. She didn't know anything else, but that was the baby's middle name. I was kind of shocked. She was shocked too when she learned that my middle name is Elise. It was my mother's name. It was a lovely coincidence.

Gabbi's mom was at the birth. She finally warmed up to the idea and came to welcome her granddaughter into the world. She eventually apologized for her unsupportive, evil behavior, and that meant all the world to her daughter. The dad accepted the baby but could not bring himself to be at the birth. He and the mother did divorce, but it was a long time coming, and his problems were very unhealthy and destructive to the family anyway. The father of the baby never took any responsibility for the child. He was not at the birth and eventually abandoned Gabbi. He is currently making a huge paycheck and fighting against paying child support. "You can't have your cake and eat it too," he once chided.

Gabbi is living at home, finishing school, and dating a guy who appears to be very nice so far. He and his family love Gabbi and her baby. Things are not always easy, but she is glad to have her daughter and feels that leaving her little girl dead in a bedpan would have been harder to live with than any downer she has to deal with now.

In her darkest moments Gabbi turned to God for strength, because He was all she had left. When her mother was telling her to abort, one recurring theme was that sometimes you have to disobey your parents in order to obey your Father (God).

There was a lot of help out there for Gabbi, and she was able to trust that she would find it. This wasn't anything they were telling her at the abortion clinic. They don't make any dough off of a mom who has her baby. Pendergraft claims to be such a friggin feminist, but he won't help a girl to have her baby, won't help her after she has a baby, and certianly doesn't help a woman after abortion.

Real feminists provide positive, real and lingering resources.

If I ever hear a "pro-choice", pseudo-feminist ask "Where are you AFTER the baby is born!?!" I will have to laugh in her face, because I'm right here, baby.

I'm right here.

Me, Gabbi and Elise.
("Decapitation" to protect identity.)

The first breath of a baby who survived at least four abortion clinics.

:: ashli 9:55 AM # ::
:: Tuesday, August 05, 2003 ::
It's Bible time at the SICLE Cell...

Uh oh. Ask and ye shall receive. Someone read my "do not pass go, do not collect $200" comment regarding "sin values", and they sent me a verse from the Bible that says:

"Suppose you see one of our people commit a sin that isn't a deadly sin. You can pray, and that person will be given eternal life. But the sin must not be one that is deadly. Everything that is wrong is sin, but not all sins are deadly. "
1 John 5:16-17

This is the CEV and the main idea seems to be that sins that lead to death are the "bigguns" and all other sins are the "smallins". The supporting idea seems to say that you don't have to pray for those who commit the bigguns.

Now, what kind of death is the Bible talking about here? Animal death or human death? Assuming it's human death, is it physical death or spiritual death? Assuming that it's physical, if death is a biggun and adultry is a smallin how come the Bible implies that a man can only divorce a woman if she's been getting her freak on with some other guy (Matt 5:32 and 19:9)? It doesn't say he can divorce her if she kills his child. But God hates divorce. Look at this simile:

"'For I hate divorce!' says the LORD, the God of Israel. 'It is as cruel as putting on a victim's bloodstained coat,' says the LORD Almighty."
Malachi 2:16a

The Bible doesn't say anything about abortion, although how could anyone use the Bible to justify it when the Bible says up and down how precious children are, how they are a gift from God and how God forms them in the womb?

And yet some so-called "Christian" factions have used the Bible to justify abortion, citing Exodus 21:22. Different translations render two completely different interpretations, one of them referring to a miscarried child and the other referring to a child who seemingly survives premature birth:

"Suppose a pregnant woman suffers a miscarriage as the result of an injury caused by someone who is fighting. If she isn't badly hurt, the one who injured her must pay whatever fine her husband demands and the judges approve." CEV

"Now suppose two people are fighting, and in the process, they hurt a pregnant woman so her child is born prematurely. If no further harm results, then the person responsible must pay damages in the amount the woman's husband demands and the judges approve." NLT

That scripture right there is a "whole nutha" blog.

Moving right along...

What of the unforgivable sin?

Hebrews 6 and 10 deal with this subject. If you want to drive yourself into a theological frenzy go here.

I'll be honest... I start reading stuff like this and I'm shaking in my boots. To convey the seriousness of the "discomfort" of my illness I used to say that if someone told me that nailing Christ to the cross would have gotten rid of my HG I would have gone to the shed for my hammer. Everytime I said it, it felt redundant. If you know Christ and you go out and abort your child anyway then you're pretty much wiping your feet on God's face as He bleeds for you. At least that's how it feels in spite of being forgiven.

Have I even been forgiven? I thought I was.

"Ask and God will forgive you." It's the first thing "post-abortion healing groups" tell you. But then Flip Benham fears for your soul and people start emailing you scriptures.

What I want to know is... what constitutes as rejecting God so thoroughly as to never be granted forgiveness? What constitues as knowing God so fully and maturely that you can even attain such a sin? Does any Christian fully know God? If not, how can any Christian fully reject Him? There must be an answer, but what is it? Abortion? Is that what Mr. Benham's crew is getting at?

I've got some unanswerable questions here, and I'm confused and even kinda worried. And when I feel this way guess who I turn to...

The Biggun.

THE Biggun.

So that's where I'm going to have to go with this one now. That's where I'm going to have to lay my heart and soul and sin. And if I'm hell-bound because I got unbelievably sick and looped and killed a baby that I wanted and loved and didn't want to kill at all... then I will not pass go, and I will not collect $200.

What I will do, in this life at least, is chase at the Lord's heels panting and sweating and begging like a dog to serve Him until the day I find myself burning in that eternal lava lake -and me without my waterwings- for it is better to have loved Him and lost Him than never to have loved Him at all.

:: ashli 7:42 PM # ::
:: Monday, August 04, 2003 ::
Korean SICLEs, related grief and rites for aborted Korean children...

*Approximately 50% of Korea's children are aborted.

*53% of married Korean women have lost a child in an abortion.

*85% of Korean women in pregnancy homes (Such as Ae Ran Won) place their children for adoption, usually internationally, because the social climate is so negative for adoptees in the country.

*Due to gender bias and sex selective abortion 50% of Korean boys between the ages of five and nine in 1990 will not be able to find wives in the conventionally acceptable age range.

*The UNFPA is alive and well and contributing to forced abortions in Korea.

Aga-ya, youngsohaedao!

My Dear Baby, Please Forgive Me! is a book on mizuko (Japanese funeral ceremony for aborted children). It was translated into Korean, and Korean women were understandably interested. "It brought to surface feelings of uneasiness and guilt they had experienced for years but could or would not identify and provided a justification for certain life problems."

Abortion is illegal in Korea but enforced as much as a Michigan law that says a woman can't cut her hair without her husband's permission. The end result is that abortion is highly accepted in Korea, but the SICLE cell transcends culture and language.

:: ashli 9:00 AM # ::
:: Saturday, August 02, 2003 ::
Ah! Today is my second child's due date. No wonder I woke up so friggin depressed.

:: ashli 7:59 PM # ::
I am in a bit if a funk here. When I manage to climb out of it I'll feature the mom and baby.

The beach was fun but it wasn't. Anytime I go out of town I have horrible flashbacks, thoughts, feelings. I once went out of town to destroy my 15-week-old child, and going out of town has become a big trigger for me.

Now when we enter a hotel room we have to do the towel thing (cover up the coffee pot and all the little packets of goodies so I can't see them). Lots of hotels set out all these goodies for you like coffee, tea, cookies, popcorn, candy, etc... just like the hotel we stayed at the night we brought our child to ruin.

Nearly 7 years ago, I sat in a hotel room bleeding all over myself and wolfing down anything they had to offer, as I had not eaten a meal in three months, and this was the first stuff I could put in my mouth and keep down.

No more IVs, ER visits, hospitals, crummy, offensive doctors who refused to help. No more starvation-induced hallucinations, dehydration, liver dysfunction, jaundice, fear of possibly dying.

They say women are relieved immediately after abortion. I was grateful I could eat. I was either going bleed to death relatively quickly or I was going to be "back to my old, normal self" in a few days, but no more months of hell and no more not knowing when it would end. The HG was over, and in that sense, I was relieved. Of course after my first true meal that night (cottage cheese and fruit), after my husband went to sleep, I was trying to figure out how to open the unopenable top-floor window so I could jump out and smash my newly non-pregnant brains all over the sidewalk.

I had complications. That's why I was in the hotel in the first place. I was hemorrhaging, and they sent me to a hotel where I had to call every hour until I stopped soaking a pad an hour. I was soaking several pads an hour so the calls continued for awhile. Finally, I just crawled in the tub and bled, but I lived confound it.

These days all of that comes rushing back on vacation. We check in, I'm freaking inside, I see the goodies, throw a towel over them, swallow a crying jag, and go down to the beach or the pool where I lie there watching my son have the time of his life. Meanwhile I'm totally preoccupied by my hell and wondering how I'm going to survive my "vacation".

Sometimes I just have to get away. But I can never get away.

That's rule number one in this game.

:: ashli 10:13 AM # ::

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