The day that I had my first miscarriage, I got a late evening call from my boss. While we have a friendly and open relationship (partnership), we rarely spoke after 5 p.m. She did not know that we were trying to get pregnant, but she did know that I was waiting to hear from my doctor regarding something important. She called to confide in me that she was an alcoholic, and in the midst of multi-year long affair. She would be going to rehab (mainly determined by her husband), and I was in charge while she was gone. It had been a hellish week, being pregnant then not. It would be an even worse month to come with her gone. I learned the hard way in that instance that even though we may pray hard for an outcome, we may plan to the tenth degree, but our true fate is out of our hands.