Web Exclusive: The Juggler

When I was handed a plane ticket granting me a flight to South Florida for inpatient treatment, images of bikini-clad women and emerald-colored palm trees did not enter my mind. Instead the lonely and fearful thoughts of life without alcohol clouded every action and thought of mine. I had recently passed the clinically-ordained life expectancy from my doctors following another grand mal seizure induced coma. As I entered my fifth treatment center, I did not have feelings of optimism and hope about recovery.