Every morning I sat on my bed with my knees tucked up to my chin and prayed: "Please let the baby be okay. Please let the baby be okay." I didn't really believe in God. But, like many non-believers, I turned to him when I needed something done that was out of my control. Although the ultrasounds had all shown a heartbeat and the doctors said everything looked good, I had been bleeding for most of the eight and a half weeks of my pregnancy, and I knew something was wrong. So I prayed and I prayed and I...