There is a small child I know here, about the same age as Tatoe. This small child was born with a large number of medical problems, including a genetic condition. Almost a quarter of this child's life has been in the hospital, where hundreds of thousands of dollars of care have been supplied.
Now, it transpires, the child has leukemia. Depending on how many mutations are present, and what kind, the five-year survival rate is somewhere between, oh, 40% and maybe 80%. The mother is insisting 'everything will be fine!' (It's probably on the higher end, but still.)
It reminds me of when I was in grad school, and a young mother, a friend of everyone I knew, was diagnosed with breast cancer, which rapidly progressed to Stage IV. This is not atypical in young people with cancer, as you probably know, due to certain fundamental facts about cells. Everyone was talking about 'beating' it and her being 'cured' and I looked up the median survival: 15 months. Advanced, aggressive cancer is also almost always fatal, unless something else kills you first. (She lived for a few years.) She died. It was sad. The sadness and the facts have nothing to do with each other.
I hope this small child is okay, but wishing won't make it so.