California, a Pro-Life Novel: With Jesus Loves Unborn Children, a Pro-Life Blog

By Abigail Hill

“California, a Pro-Life Novel” documents Abby and Bill’s exodus from Southeast Pennsylvania to the South West where they marry, and then to California.
Bill is a survivor of a Hurricane. Abby has spent 4 years in Pennsylvania as a psychiatric patient after a nearly fatal overdose. Tragically, however, Abby gets pregnant and can’t have the baby because she is ill.
“Jesus Loves Unborn Children, a Pro-Life Blog,” catches up with Bill and Abby 20 years later, when Abby is coping with a second abortion and a born child. The blog details her day to day experiences and reflections. She is haunted even in her uterus, with pain and dryness. Even counseling for post-traumatic abortion counseling doesn’t reach her.
“In this book you will find grief and heartache and no sure answers. This is a place you have to go through if you get involved with abortion and I want it t be very clear to my reader and to anybody who is aware of this book the desperate heartbreak of any abortion and just how bad it can be.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Sep 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781483454559

Book preview

HILL

Copyright © 2018 Abigail Hill.

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ISBN: 978-1-4834-5454-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5455-9 (e)

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Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 08/29/2018

Introduction

I said to Bill when we were living in California that our lives were a case study in abortion. I didn’t know how else to make sense of it, how else to bear it.

The second abortion, an asleep procedure, was so bad that by the time rolled around for my born child to be conceived I was hanging around in my underwear watching sex movies on t.v. and masturbating, smoking the occasional cigarette. (I had cut down on smoking after the second abortion, another thing that made it possible to carry the third child when he came.) My only current identity was former state hospital patient. I was living an alternative reality. I had one foot on the other side of the norm. I was very ill and saw the devil in the lit head of the cigarette. I was so desperate with OCD that I could barely take care of myself. I saw patterns in the wrinkles of the sheets in bed and the head of a steer when I looked at my hamburger, and I couldn’t lay down and I couldn’t eat.

I accidentally ran into that awful movie about a serial killer in Texas who turned himself in when a girl got away from him and told his story at the Police Depot where he turned himself in. I was so upset I asked my husband what to do. He said Did it turn you on? I was aghast. That was the problem. Like when a soldier goes to war and gets a turn-on from killing and it upsets him. I was horrified by that film and the images continued to play through my mind. I had murdered my child. Within about a week I found out that I was pregnant. I had just finally stopped taking Haldol, a powerful anti-psychotic medication, so that I could get pregnant. And there it was! I was pregnant. I didn’t feel ready.

About 12 years later in Florida I finally felt clear of the star of the serial killer hanging over me and my child: I remember the moment, turning onto our street in Florida and that it passed by us and I felt reassured that my son would not be affected.

All of this was about the abortion, the second abortion that happened because of the first abortion. I was sure I was going to Hell. I was in agony with pain from the abortion, foul periods. I felt poisonous to the child I was carrying. I would soak in the tub trying to soak out the toxicity of my womb somehow. But there is a reason for everything. I am putting up another book simultaneously with this one. It will be out a few weeks or months later. It is called Every Cloud…, it is autobiographical and it is about redemption.

In this book you will find grief and heartache and no sure answers. This is a place you have to go through if you get involved with abortion and I want it to be very clear to my reader and to anybody who is aware of this book the desperate heartbreak of any abortion and just how bad it can be. One thing I want to posit is that we prepare for our children, HOWEVER THEY MAY COME ABOUT, all of our lives. I believe that I was led suicide attempts and to the state hospital BECAUSE OF the children who would be aborted. All of this was written before time began and in that timeless zone, the aborted children and the child I finally did have, came first.

Author’s Note

Please note that the Blog portion of this book is taken from a live blog that was running from 2011 to about 2015. I have corrected typos but have left all the loose grammar necessary to the off-the-cuff manner of the delivery. Also, there are opinions, thoughts, and feelings expressed, specifically about Black American issues and about Project Rachel post-traumatic abortion counseling which are not well thought out but wherein there are some matters important to the main issue, the Pro-Life stance of the book. Abigail gets caught in-between Pro-Life and Pro-Black when Obama is in office. I repented of some of these ill-thought out expressions of feelings and the underlying politics, long after the time of this writing but I leave them here for the character of the blog.

CALIFORNIA,

A PRO-LIFE NOVEL

Chapter One

No matter how far away I get from California, it remains closed to me, a place in the past I can’t touch.

Just the other day I saw a place open in a white sky that was letting me back in there. I remember the hole in the clouds I saw one day there that felt like a chance to escape, to go home. I never found home again.

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1.1

We arrived at the modest motel in Temecula early in the morning. We must have been driving all night. I don’t remember it well, just the sight of the motel from Rte. 15 N; we arrived separately in a white Ford F-100 with a yellow canvas tarp over all our possessions; and a tan Dodge Colt, made by Mitsubishi, with a few things in the back.

Both vehicles had broken down on the way from PA to Texas, through Louisiana; but in Texas, where we married, Bill had had some work done on the truck, and by the time we reached California the Colt was breaking down again instead.

So right away we had to get the Colt in for repair.

(When we left Cali we left in a brand new shock blue Acura Integra; Bill was still driving the truck; I was pregnant.)

I was having some problems with my mind. Many years of psychiatric drugs. I was trying to quit the Haldol, and the Tegretol, I later figured out, interacted with the smog. The sky looks clear in Temecula, but the smog does drift down from L.A. through Riverside, all the way down to the mountain pass into San Diego County just below Temecula.

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1.2

Bill was good with vehicles. He knew how to repair brakes, diagnose engine trouble, et cetera. He was simultaneously good with calculus: he was trained as a geodetic engineer at a good university in Canada, where he was born. I knew nothing whatever about vehicles, and I had forgotten my calculus. I even had trouble doing simple math and, as far as my skills in my major, which was English, I had difficulty even writing a check. As we grew together in our travels I gradually learned that I knew nothing whatever about just about everything. I had graduated from an excellent college; Bill doubted it. By the time we reached the end of our 16 years in Florida, some twenty years later–we divorced–I was not merely convinced of my own ignorance but so completely lost in a deep tide of pain and passion that it took numerous phone calls from an old friend whom I hadn’t seen since high school, to bring me back to a functional level of mental competency. Fortunately she was a psychologist who worked with veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, so there was a point of contact with what I had become.

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1.3

I would do anything to undo the divorce.

It was rooted in the uncertainty with which we began.

When Bill and I met, I was recently an inpatient at a state hospital in PA. He was recently a refugee from Hurricane Hugo in the Virgin Islands. We had horror stories to swap. Mostly he wanted to let me know that he had been there, done that, and that I shouldn’t talk about the state hospital. He called me an axe-murderer and it wasn’t until much later that I realized how serious he was about his feelings about my having been at that place. He had once gone to drive around the