Process

Weeks later, I was flown from Guam to Hawaii for open‑heart surgery. Doctors discovered a hole in my heart the size of a half‑dollar. I had lived my whole life, had two children, and never knew. On July 29th — my birthday — I had the surgery that saved my life.

Two weeks after that, my mom said, “Let’s go down to the pool.” I cried. I told her I couldn’t. She looked at me with that tough‑love fire and said, “So what if you’re handicap?”

I was angry. Hurt. Scared. But she walked me to the door, closed it behind me, and said, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

They lived twelve stories up. She took the elevator. I took the stairs.

It took me an hour. She was downstairs crying, whispering, “Come on Tammy, you can do it.”

When I finally reached the pool, she jumped in and told me to get in too. I was terrified — but I did it.

And in that water, surrounded by kids playing, something incredible happened: My arm moved. My leg moved. My hand opened. I could walk. Everything that felt lost… woke back up.

My mom has caught me every time I’ve fallen. My dad, who passed on August 9th, 2025, was my quiet strength. My mom is a firecracker — but to me, she’s just Mom. And she’s the reason I kept fighting.

Ever since that day, I’ve fought for my life, my purpose, and my voice.