January 15, 2011, was the day I said “I do” to my husband, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, till death us do part. Little did I know all three vows would be tested on our first day of marriage. Five hours before the ceremony I was hit with horrific abdominal pain that took us from urgent care, to the wedding (wearing my best forced smile), and eventually to ER. Our honeymoon adventure — supposedly a week of surfing in Mexico’s Riviera Nayarit — was put on hold until we found answers. Poking, prodding and tests determined my fallopian tubes needed to be removed. Over the next few years, we went on to survive ICU, failed in vitro attempts and a miscarriage. Once the “why us” faded, we made a pact to say goodbye to the past, live in the blessings of today and love one another with reckless abandon.