The Anatomy of Abuse: Better or Bitter?

As a baby being formed in his mother's womb, aspirin and alcohol coursed through his veins, damaging his brain and body. He was to suffer so much that at his birth, the doctors said he would die within the hour. At the age of three, he sat in a room with bare cement walls and a dirt floor, unloved and unwanted, told that his mom wished he would die. At the age of eight, suffering from fetal alcohol syndrome and a left leg that was three inches shorter than his right, he sat on a doctor's examination table. At forty-three, he began to examine his past, forgive, and get better. I should know, for I was that baby. About the Author I was born in the small town of Teulon, Manitoba. God set me apart before I was even born, calling my life into being even though the doctors said I wouldn't live. When I was six years old, I moved with my parents to an acreage just outside Portage la Prairie. After high school, I left to attend Bible college in Saskatoon, where I got married. In 1991, I moved with my wife up north, where I learned a lot about what not to do. A year later, I was back in Saskatoon, where I learned a lot about what not to say. While there, I found freedom-in more ways than one.