I lost my baby boy at 31 weeks of pregnancy in February 2013. My heart shattered into a million pieces that weekend in February. I knew that I wanted the chance to bring home another live, healthy baby in my arms. I had some medical issues that would concern doctors during a uncomplicated pregnancy and would put me at high risk if, and that at the time was a big if I was able to get pregnant, and could I make it past the second trimester. I had doctors who supported my decision to try again, but my body wasn't co operating. 2015. I got pregnant, straight on the medication I needed, lots of blood tests. Got a horrible sinking feeling something went wrong at the 6 week stage, bleeding at 8 weeks. At 9weeks of pregnancy, got a scan and no heartbeat was found. I choose the d&c operation, I couldn't deal with seeing the miscarriage blood for days. I tried to convince myself to give up, move on. Wasn't an easy thing to do, but the depression and sadness wasn't fair to my 6 year old son. He needed his mummy who was always sad, in his mind. About 6 months later, I was having a scan. This time, I had a strong heart beat on screen. The pregnancy was extremely high risk, consultant led, daily injections, scans every 2 weeks from 18 weeks. No guarantees of a good outcome. Planned c section at 38 weeks. Healthy baby girl. I was lucky, I got the chance to have my happy ever after. Was it worth the heartache and infertility caused by stress - yes Was it worth the terrifying 34 weeks of pregnancy- yes Do I miss and wish the baby boy I lost at 31 weeks was here - every day For me, being bloody minded and stubborn worked out for me. At the end of the story, the family is probably: A. Terribly depressed B. Happy and intact C. Estranged D. not enough information
B

(Question)
So, there I was. Hanging out in my swimsuit, hair drawn back, just minding my own business and relaxing in the delicious, luxurious Scandinave Spa, a stone's throw from Whistler town centre. The husband and I had split up for the afternoon he had decided to traverse the peaks of Whistler and Blackcomb on the peak2peak gondola, and I'd chosen a slightly less terrifying mountain vista to enjoy. It was just one of those days where we'd decided happily to do two different things, and meet up afterwards for a spot of dinner. Cascading down the hillside, the Scandinave Spa's rustic installations nestle on the edge of the Lost Lake Park spruce and cedar forest and promises to both relax and invigorate you, and provide an escape from daily stress. With several levels of hot and icy plunge pools, sauna and steam rooms, everyone wanders from indoor to outdoor relaxation spots from sun-soaked spot to waterfall spout back massages. Bliss. It's also a place where silence is "essential to the experience. By embracing silence one finds inner stillness, leading to complete relaxation." To be honest, most people who couldn't be quiet i.e. me just talked in hushed tones, but it made for a super chilled few hours. Until I was sitting in one of the steam rooms (does that make the title clickbait? Sorry using the title 'steam room with Lady Gaga' made it sound as though we were chickens cooking in a slowcooker) and a very, very slim blonde lady slipped in. Queen Gaga herself. I've got to be honest, sticking to the 'no eye contact with other people who are chillaxing' rule, I didn't pay very much attention to what was going on, but after 25 minutes or so of basting relaxing, I stretched languidly my bones like toffee and wandered out to the next room, and looking up from the drinks table, had to blink several times as she followed me out. Trying to play cool, I tried keep a poker face (after all, she was there to relax and recuperate in the middle of a big Canadian tour, she didn't need a random Kiwi gawking at her)... After the end of the story, the writer probably: A. went to the Canadian tour B. asked for Lady Gaga's autograph C. not enough information D. did not talk to Lady Gaga
(Answer)
D

Ques: I thought I might get some good ideas if I went down to the hospital. I always have stayed away from hospitals. People died or were born. But now I thought I might get some idea if I went down to where it was all happening, the being born and the dying. Mostly the dying. It was the dying that interested me. I sat on a bench in a sort of waiting room. I wanted to call it a green room; it wasn't a place where the patients would wait to be called by the doctor; it was a place where the relatives would wait while the patient was in their room. It had a coffee bar, and comfortable couches, with trendy, muted colors on the walls and floor. Everything was clean and modern without being cold, a homogenized balancing act designed to keep everyone calm during their stressful time. It was a green room; patients were "guests"; their families were "guests" as well. Here was where the families would sit and be feted while they waited to be called out to perform, to smile and encourage or to don faces of appropriate mournfulness. The old ones would put on smiles, the young ones would look sad. I think I went there because it seemed to me that it was the place richest in emotional impact. It reeked of spent emotions, and the emotions were made all the stronger, here in the green room, by the efforts at suppression--the muted walls and gourmet coffees and scones, the overstuffed loveseats and couches, as if those in grief should not be permitted to sit on benches or folding chairs. It absolutely reeked of hush and hidden feeling. It was worse than a church. It was worse than a highschool hallway. It was more universal, more basic, something even the children could comprehend. When did the author see the coffee bar? A. Before walking into the green room B. not enough information C. After walking into the green room D. Before deciding to go to the hospital
Ans:
C