It is enough to say that the damage was far worse than the scans had suggested, that it required delicate, painstaking work far into the afternoon, and that there were long stretches where I did not know whether we would win.

A six-year-old’s body is a small and fragile thing to fight for.

We fought for hers with everything the team had.

At eleven forty-seven in the morning, we closed the final incision and her vital signs held — steady, and strong, and her own.

Paisley was alive.

She was breathing on her own, and her blood pressure was climbing back to where it belonged, and she was on her way to the intensive care unit to recover.

In eight years, I have felt that particular feeling many times, and it never dulls, the moment you realize the child is going to live.