As long as there's ice cream.

Any one that's met our daughter knows that the girl is a problem solver. At five, she can work out a solution to what ever might need fixing. It often involves buying a replacement at Target (where, at three, she thought we should buy a new house from). Anyway, she has a deep concern about this whole transplant thing. Often it centers on Ben having to stay in the hospital, or me staying there, or even his incision or pain level. But lately, the big concern has been on the status of ice cream in the hospital cafeteria. See, when Ben was in Methodist hospital, Grandma and Grandpa would take their sweet granddaughter down to the cafeteria every evening while I visited with Ben. One night, it was discovered that they had ice cream. And chocolate sauce. And so, for the next few nights, ice cream was the treat of choice, and frankly some nights it was probably dinner.

The other important thing you need to know is that during his stay, we also watched the people mover that runs between Methodist and the other hospitals. Having stayed in Disney World, to a five year old, the people mover is the next best thing to the Monorail and surely must be just as fun.

So, now that you have the back story, here's how the conversations go . . .

Daughter: "Daddy, do they have ice cream in that hos-ti-pit-al where you're going for your liver transplant?"

Ben: "I'm not sure, maybe."

Daughter: "Well, if they don't, that's ok. I'm just going to have grandpa take me over to that other hos-ti-pit-al to get ice cream. We'll ride the Monorail over."

Ben: "Oh, um, okey."

Daughter: "Cause that ice cream was so good! Yum-meeeee! And then we'll ride the Monorail back to your hos-ti-pit-al."

*"hos-ti-pit-al": The incorrect pronunciation of "hospital" by a five year old. And it sounds pretty darn cute when you hear it.

See, our girl is a problem solver and, as long as there's ice cream somewhere close by, it's all good.