Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.
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Question: I had seen it before, those fuzzy, furry leaves and stalks, with the pretty, star-pointed purple flowers, but up until that moment that I saw them sitting in a basket at the market stalls, I admit I had never taken notice of it as a food. It grow along cracks in stone walls and along the roadside near my home in Settignano, which is blooming with spring goodness right now: robinia (black locust) trees, wild garlic (three-cornered leek) and even elderflowers are already bursting.
I asked the vendor just to double check, "Is this borage?" "Si," Came the answer, "Borragine." He confirmed. "I've had it in ravioli," I started to say, "Brava!" He said, as if we were about to start a guessing game on what could be done with it. Actually, there's a lot that can be done with it. If you can use it as a ravioli filling with ricotta, then you can imagine it taking the place of spinach in gnudi, too, but also soups or frittata or stirred through polenta.
I learned that the flowers are just as delicious, if not more interesting, for their delicate cucumber-like flavour people told me of their use in salads or cocktails like Pimms, and someone even mentioned she freezes them in ice cubes, what a pretty idea for those first warm nights when you can dine al fresco, homemade cocktail in hand. Then there's risotto and of course the fritters, much like these ones. Or you can simply deep fry the clusters of buds that haven't yet burst open like these deep-fried robinia flowers.
borage and ricotta crepes
The problem, I was thinking, as I took home my bag of borage, is that I can't decide what to make. There's simply too much choice.
I consulted two of my favourite books that also happen to be cookbooks. Patience Gray's Honey from a Weed and Luigi Ballerini's A Feast of Weeds. Both had wonderful ideas for borage (and indeed many other edible, foraged plants). Question: Who told the author that the plants were borage?

Answer: the vendor

Question: 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. Question: Who didn't deserve to see the writer be sad and depressed

Answer: the writer's 6 year old son

Question: The surgeon who had delivered my son by C-section an hour earlier stepping back from the table, and saying, "We're done, people. Good job, everyone!"
That hour had been hell for everyone in the room, save only my little boy, sleeping peacefully in the warming crib, and his mother, who was just stirring from the general that had put her under about 55 minutes earlier. I had come within a few minutes, maybe seconds, of raising my boy as a single parent. Her OB/GYN had fought valliently to keep my family together, and won. Everyone who'd been awake knew exactly how close run a thing it had been. Mr. Murphy had been hanging around the whole time, and neither Doc nor mom was catching a whole lot of breaks that evening. But Doc only needed one, and he made full use thereof.
One thing for all new dad's whose wives have had previous abdominal surgery. You never want to hear the muttered words, "Creative anatomy on the way out", when somebody has your wife's belly open. Those are about the worst words in the world, because they mean Doc's gotta put stuff to right in there, and he might not have what he'd like in order to get it done.
But when he stands back, after the sponge count had to be done twice, and the tool count is right, and the belly is stapled closed, and everyone in the room is still breathing Just let it be known that the roving nurse has extra sponges for dad's nose.
Oh yeah, and the neonatal nurses don't expect dad to change that first diaper. Maconium is nasty shit. Litterally. But I was happy to do it while talking to his groggy mom. Question: Who had the C-section?

Answer:
The author's wife.