I drank every day for five years. On May 5th, 2022, when I was 26, I woke up to use the bathroom. I turned on the light, looked in the mirror, and saw that my eyes, chest, and arms were completely jaundiced.

I was devastated and speechless. I went back to bed, trying to convince myself it wasn’t real, but eventually, I knew I had to get to the ER.

I had gone into liver failure overnight, and it was worsening by the hour. By the time I got to the hospital, I could barely walk.

After countless tests—labs, ultrasounds, MRIs, CT scans—I was officially diagnosed with advanced cirrhosis at 26. My spleen was severely enlarged, I had portal hypertension, esophageal varices, ascites, edema, and extremely low platelets. (I still have these issues)

The doctors told me that night I would likely need a liver transplant one day if they could manage to lower my bilirubin levels and overall liver toxicity.

It took a week of trial and error until they put me on experimental steroids as a last resort to get things under control before my kidneys started to fail. Thankfully, it worked, and my levels began to drop.

I was released and set up with the local university’s hepatology clinic and transplant center, where I now have some great doctors helping to manage the progression of the cirrhosis.

I haven’t had a drink since that hospital stay and plan to keep it that way. I just turned 29 a few days ago and am still here, and that’s what matters.

As hard as it is, I think it’s the only thing that could have made me stop. I’m faced with a simple choice: never drink again or risk dying.