This Means War.

Ohio State Representative Candice Keller (Republican anti-abortion zealot) has included language in House Bill 413 that must be deleted. I understand she wants to get rid of abortion completely. She is entitled to her opinion about abortion, but she is not free to make shit up and call it science.

This well-written article by Jessica Glenza of The Guardian spells out what’s up.  Seriously, take a minute to read it. Your head will explode.

Because I have personal experience with the life-threatening reality of an ectopic pregnancy (its in the book), I feel compelled to address this situation, if by compelled you mean LIVID AND RAGING. I wrote the following letter to Gov. DeWine and to every single sponsor and co-sponsor of this dangerous, ludicrous bill. (You can, too, by following the handy links in the last sentence.) You can use my letter, too.

Nov. 29, 2019

Dear Gov. DeWine,

I am writing to you with grave concerns regarding HB 413. While I am opposed to much of this bill, the following stands out me as especially dangerous and ignorant:

(C) Takes all possible steps to preserve the life of the unborn child, while preserving the life of the woman. Such steps include, if applicable, attempting to re-implant an ectopic pregnancy into the woman’s uterus.

 

.As an ectopic pregnancy survivor, I can share from firsthand experience what an incredibly frightening and painful experience it is. My ectopic pregnancy happened many years ago. At the time I had no health insurance, no access to, or knowledge, of birth control, and, compounding these issues, no comprehensive sex education. I had never even heard of fallopian tubes. Several days after a negative pregnancy test, the pain began. A bad sexual experience turned into a life threatening situation. My fallopian tube ruptured and I hemorrhaged. I ended up in emergency surgery, very, very lucky to be alive. Needless to say no blastocyst remained to “re-implant.”

I believe HB 413 spreads dangerous misinformation and exists only to harass, demean, and threaten doctors and women. No medical procedure exists to re-implant the remains of an ectopic pregnancy, whether the fallopian tube ruptures or not, because it is an impossibility. This mandate is pure science fiction; an reprehensible, outlandish, indefensible grasp at a non-existent correlation between abortion and ectopic pregnancy. Because outspoken members of the medical community have not hesitated to educate you, I know that you already know this.

So the question remains, why?

Will you remain unsatisfied until every woman in Ohio is married, celibate, or dead?

Your Constituent,

Ronna Russell

See the explosion on the picture there, the rupturing fallopian tube on the right? THAT SHIT HURTS.

 

Party Train to Hippocamp

The road to Hippocamp Writers’ Conference is dark with no bathrooms and requires driving for hours through torrential rain, tunnels and construction zones, and being blocked in by eighteen wheelers. Holding my pee, I eased through the EZ pass gate where I took a wrong turn last year, nervous to get it right in 2019. I glanced at the map on my phone, but there were flashing lights all around and too many choices, so I took another wrong turn, but a different one this time, so not even the wrong surroundings were familiar. It was a brand new wrong turn, and now I’m in a detour lane with no shoulders or exits.

PROCEED TO THE ROUTE my British male Siri barks, clearly annoyed.

At this moment, from the bowels of my iTunes library, came the sound of an oncoming train-ch-ch-ch-ch WOOOOOOOOT WOOOOOOOOT ALL ABOOOOAAAARDParty Train by The Gap Band circa 1983 thumps out of my stereo speakers. PROCEED TO THE ROUTE British male Siri insists urgently. Every all aboard Anybody want to take this ride the funky beat surges louder.

My churning gut emits a fetid belch and I catch a whiff of nervous sweat blossoming in my armpits. PROCEED TO THE ROUTE PROCEED TO THE ROUTE British male Siri screams, as if somehow I can comply. I cannot PROCEED TO THE fucking ROUTE because I’m in a fucking detour lane in bumper to bumper traffic, flying through the darkening dark with orange and white striped barrels on one side and a solid barrier with angry reflectors on the other. Our reluctant trio flies on through the night, The Gap Band, British male Siri, and I.

Suddenly the highway widens into two lanes and traffic spans out.

Get down, get down, get down tonight We’re gonna party, gonna party on the train tonight…

Jesus Christ, can I take my hand off the wheel to turn off that goddamn song now?

The car directly to my left rear-ends the car in front of it with a screech and bang.

Nope.

Damp fingers grip the wheel until a blessed exit sign appeared. I silence British male Siri and an iTunes library in need of serious updating, and enter Lancaster, PA through side door.

P.S. Hippocamp19 was AWESOME and I am so glad I went. Next year I am flying.

gap band rear

Fun Fact

Of the six men who were murdered during the Salem Witch Trials, five were known to be excessively violent. Bear in mind, domestic abuse was legal in those days (ahem*marital rape is still legal in Ohio). Wives, children, servants and slaves, livestock, all were the property of white male landowners and could be beaten at will. Severe violence and murder were frowned upon, but the day-to-day slapping around necessary to keep everyone in line was perfectly fine. One of the accused landowners had murdered a hired hand in a fit of rage. The hired hand’s mother was in the crowd gathered to watch the landowner hang.

There were no reports of sexual abuse. It wasn’t a thing.

Who would report it? To whom? What would happen to the abuser? No one, to nobody, and nothing.

Interesting, though, isn’t it?

 

Highly recommended source:

A Storm of Witchcraft: The Salem Trials and the American Experience

book by Emerson Baker

 

Slacking

Rumor has it I have been slacking with the blog posting situation. It is true. I have taken a giant step away from social media lately in order to enjoy my school break and to relish the completion of my book launch. I have been hanging out with the hubby, the dog, my daughter, reading, going to yoga, and breathing. Whew.

Here are some things I have learned during my first year in Ohio:

Midwesterners are kind.

Gentle landscapes are just as beautiful as dramatic scenery.

Wildlife is completely different-giant groundhog things and muskrats, cardinals and yellow finches. No whales.

It takes time to relax into love.

And trust.

The sharp pointy edges of emotional armor require conscious effort to dismantle and set aside. Taking them off is merely the first freeing, weightless step. Then comes inching away from the weapon pile. Letting them gather dust and rust. Wandering so far away you can’t remember where they are or how you ever got them on.

Thunderstorms rock.

 

The Uncomfortable Confessions Of a Preacher’s Kid is available now.