Had a very significant multidisciplinary appointment for my nearly 11 y.o. daughter today where we were told, regardless of the outcome of the big surgery we thought she was having, she'll probably never walk independently. It rocked me and the grief is real. I think my expectations were a little too high, but I never saw this coming. Times like this I'm forced to go back to her traumatic birth and the very real moments where I held her and begged her to live. It's the only thing that gets me through these hard times. We didn't have to bury our tiny preemie. We got to bring her home. Perspective is necessary, but I will grieve for the future that will be so much more challenging for her than her peers. I grieve for the childhood that is starkly different than that of her classmates. This sucks, but she's alive.