Today, my daughter at 1,360 something days old officially graduated from every specialist, every follow up is done. Every surgeon. Her entire file related to prematurity and the cascade of drama and fear and surgeries and med-evac helicopters that followed is … closed. It was uneventful. The doctor shook my hand. Gave her a high five. We went to Costco. To Chick-fil-a. We got an oil change. We grabbed a coffee and shared a cookie. She fell asleep in her car seat on the way home. And I sobbed. Because medicine and science and miracles saved her. And I saved me. And I’m so freaking proud of myself.