An update on my granddaughter, The Warrior Princess
First the good news: Cassandra and my daughter-in-law are at the Pittsburgh Children's Hospital. The surgical team has given the okay for a liver transplant (there was even discussion of a possible liver resection, but after a final MRI it was determined a resection wouldn't fly).
We're now waiting for insurance approval.
Bad news: the insurance delay is making the entire family, extended family and close friends Nervous Nellies. And then additional information: the aggressive chemo therapy (which has pushed the cancer into remission) has damaged the baby girl's kidneys.
Which means? She is likely looking at renal failure in the future.
I have this sinking feeling we're playing whack-a-mole. Correct one thing and then something equally awful raises its ugly head.
I want to be as courageous as my three-year old grand daughter. I want to be Miss Smiley Face pushing through every dire prognosis, dancing down hospital corridors to Beyonce and/or Taylor Swift, embracing every moment like it's the best thing ever.
But I'm not.
Instead, I'm composing last words for my grand-daughter's funeral, searching the words of others for answers I know I'll never really find. Yes, I'm a bookworm. Whenever I've been faced with the inexplicable, the sort of things you can't get heart or mind around, I run to books. It's just what I do; it's what I've always done, even as a child.
I'm beginning to think I stink at this role as Nan because I never allowed negative thinking when my son suffered a brain injury, was told several times by the medical team that his future--at best--was long-term nursing care.
They were wrong. But this?
My reading list has concentrated on hope, faith, grief and joy, universals that seem to sum up the present moment.
As for Cassandra? She's still dancing. I need to learn those steps.
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I'm normally pretty upbeat and optimistic, often annoying my friends and family. LOL. But this has definitely taken a toll.
Of course the real toll has been on my son and daughter-in-law. There is nothing worse than having a seriously sick or injured child. It's a nightmare.
But I take your words seriously. Because I know they're true. I've even repeated the same words to my son.
Now, if only I could take my own (and your) advice. 
Thanks, too, for the offer to talk. I may take you up on it in the future!
In this case, I think you're inside my head. I, too, have the Irish genes tempered by moody Welsh genetics. It's the Welsh relatives I tend to annoy the worst. LOL.
Right, too, that writing this Nan howl and responding to members helped. That's been my experience with writing which is, I believe, a form of thinking, feeling, working things out. It does provide comfort. In fact, I feel better this morning than I have for the last several days.
I'll put my eulogy and memorial musings back in my desk drawer. I know where they are if I need them. But for the moment, I need to concentrate on the present. And those tiny dancing feet.
Doesn't mean I won't skid off the rails in the future. But at least right now, I'm recharged.
Thank you, friend!
The Warrior Princess will PREVAIL!
Wasn't there a gofundme, or the like?
I need to practice the baby girl's dance moves. Seriously. 
We're all hoping the transplant will give Cassandra another chance, a chance she deserves after so many medical interventions. Another chance to tap those tiny feet, too.
I'm collecting all these good vibes, blessings and wishes and weaving them into a hope shield. It's today's armor against future dark moments.
Thanks for adding more to my basket which was pretty empty last night.
For the hugs, love and support.
I found myself uncharacteristically angry at my last GP appointment. I was trying to explain the situation to my doctor, a woman who has absolutely no connection to Cassandra's case. I was spitting nails, so much so that I stopped suddenly and apologized. She turned around and said quite plainly, "You don't owe me or anyone else an apology."
That cleared the air but it's also an example of the rollercoaster nature of these things--up one day, down the next, then ready to strangle your doctor on day 3. LOL.
Btw, I'll take your hug in absentia.
One day at a time, as they say. Thanks for the note.
His 8 year old grandson has an un-diagnosed brain lesion. While i cannot experience your pain I can feel it in my heart. Sending positive thoughts your way.
However, for my devout friends and family members, I'm quite willing to get on my knees and repeat the prayers of my childhood. It's not hard because these events quickly bring you to your knees.
But I think you're right. There's something about the dancing, the celebration of the moment.
I'm working on it.
I'm collecting every hug I can get these days.
I can see the hospital from my bedroom window. We are in town visiting my son who lives just down the street from Children’s.
She’s in good hands. I think she will be fine.