A True Miracle in Motion

I’m about to get into some deep feelings — and it might hurt a few people — but honestly, I don’t mind anymore.
The truth is, they were never supportive of me beyond the surface, beyond what my business could offer them.

When I was 16 years old, my mom threw me a Sweet 16 party at our ranch — a beautiful celebration to mark what would unknowingly become the last time I could enjoy myself without the weight of major medical battles ahead.
The night should have been perfect. Yet, I was quietly battling intense pain in my left side, to the point where I ended the evening lying in bed, hurting and scared while a party buzzed on outside.

Over 50 people attended my Sweet 16.
And yet, less than 10 people even thought to bring a card or gift — a simple gesture that would have meant the world.
They treated it like a house party.
But to the few who helped set up and stayed by my side that day: I carry your kindness in my heart forever. Your support meant far more to me than anything material ever could.

I share this now because I’m finally confident enough to explain why I keep my social circle small.
Most of the people I interact with today are through my business or nonprofit work — and that’s by choice.

When I was 15, a boy we’ll call “C” had a longboarding accident and ended up hospitalized.
Everyone — including someone I thought was my friend (“J”) — rushed to visit him.
I baked brownies for him, checked in on him constantly, even invited him to my Sweet 16.

And when it was my turn to be hospitalized — after major surgeries, endless emergency visits to Henry Mayo, and terrifying diagnoses — no one came.
Not once.
Not even the ones who had eaten at my table, celebrated in my home, and smiled in my photos.

That was the first time I realized: people’s actions reveal everything.

I endured eight major surgeries — including an emergency operation that saved my life from a blood clot poised to strike my heart.
When I asked my GERIATRIC DOCTOR, Dr. D (who would later call me his “favorite puzzle”), if I was going to die, he said:

“No — but if you hadn’t come within 24 hours, you would have gone into fatal cardiac arrest.”

And to think — two days earlier, I had been dismissed and sent home by another doctor (and I will name him: Dr. Robert Hook) whose negligence could have ended my life.
I thank God every day for my mother — my warrior, my guardian angel — who insisted on just one more test before sending me home again.
That X-ray saved me.

After surgery, my body bore the evidence of battle — my veins permanently widened, my spirit worn.
At home, with a Hickman port in my chest, I endured three and a half years of daily IV infusions.
And through it all, it was only my mom who stood by my side.

There were moments so dark that I would tell her, sobbing from my hospital bed,

“Mama, I want to give up. I’m so tired of being a tough cookie.”
A nickname the nurses lovingly gave me: their little tough cookie.

I have been resuscitated — twice — at Henry Mayo.
And I can tell you: death is not scary to me anymore.
Death feels like a familiar friend.
But it’s why, even now, falling asleep sometimes terrifies me — the fear that I might not wake up again.

Yet somehow, through all of this, my spirit survived.
And miracles weren’t done with me yet.

In 2018, the night before Thanksgiving, I fell into a devastating psychosis after attempting to quit Hydromorphone cold turkey — because my pain management doctors refused to help me wean off.
For three and a half months, I lived in a world no one else could see.

Doctors told my mother I would be permanently disabled.
She even retired early from the LAPD, preparing to care for me for the rest of my life.
She had to plan for my care even beyond her own lifetime.

But by the grace of God — and nothing short of a miracle — I fully recovered.

Today, I am not just living — I am thriving.
I just coordinated my very first wedding completely on my own, with only one assistant (thank you Beau!) after interning with Kristeen LaBrot Events.
It was a full 16-hour day — and it was perfect.

The bride even booked my portrait lounge service — and left me my first-ever Yelp review:
A glowing 5 stars.

In the months ahead, I will be focusing entirely on my education — chasing my next dream.
With your prayers, support, and love, I will graduate with a veterinary assistant degree and, hopefully, a GPA over 3.5.

I am a living, breathing, walking miracle.
And if you are reading this, you are a part of that miracle too — because even a prayer, a kind thought, or a simple “you can do this” helped carry me here.

From the bottom of my heart —
Thank you.

With love,
Sammy