Continued from closer...

I'm really trying to be strong but I'm not. I know this transplant life. I know it's our reality forever. I know all of that. I do. It's just not the hope I have for the life of my Ashley. Why can't she be the one who writes the success story? Why not? I guess part of the lump in my throat is caused from knowing I have to rake her back and face all those questions about her again. I can't forget the comment made to Dave and I the last day of her evaluation for transplant listing.

" now we will sit down and decide if she is worthy of receiving organs. We have to choose if someone else might be more deserving. Someone who could contribute more to society than the abilities your daughter has".

I have to face this man. I have to allow him to make decisions for my daughter. I have to see the nuerologist who decided in less than five minutes spent with my daughter that she would recommend denial. These are the memories that haunt me in the halls of unmc.

I wanted her to talk so they could see how wonderful she is. I wanted her to walk so they would have to chase her down the hall to examine her. I wanted her to learn to eat so they would see that it was a success. Her bowel transplant was not wasted. She was worthy!

Instead I will answer for the thousandth time " why isn't she