A second chance at everything
When an intervention brought Chris Boland to Geisinger Marworth, a treatment center, he walked in with no tools in his toolbelt. He walked out ready to rebuild his life — and help others do the same.
Mr. Boland, 34, handed his phone to his brother before they left for Marworth. He didn't need it where he was going.
It was November 16, 2009. The drive from his parents' house in Scranton took 15 minutes. An hour earlier, his family had gathered in the living room for an intervention.
When they told him it was time to go to treatment, he felt something he didn't expect.
Relief.
"I wasn't mad," he recalls. "I was just like, thank you, Jesus. I'm glad you guys are making the call here."
When drinking took hold
Mr. Boland went to Catholic school and was a good student, a basketball player — and a rule follower.
He didn’t drink until college, where he "pretty much right away got into it more than is normal." After graduation, he lost a good job in finance because of alcohol — though it took him years to understand why. He became a gym teacher and basketball coach, which were jobs that he loved — jobs that were, he admits now, easier.
The warning signs were everywhere. He was always eager to keep the party going. His friends called it a "going home problem." He got a DUI in Philadelphia when he was 23 or 24.
A family member had gone through Marworth about 3 years earlier. Mr. Boland visited sometimes and saw people getting better. But he still couldn't stop.
"It just had a hold on me for whatever reason," he says. "I think I was afraid to be honest."
By 2008, he'd moved to Manhattan with his then-girlfriend, Kelly. He wasn’t coaching. He didn’t have any community ties. Instead, he went out 5 nights a week.
His family and Kelly talked. They knew an intervention was the right thing.
Walking through the doors at Marworth
The first person Mr. Boland met at Geisinger Marworth was Jack Harte, the intake specialist.
"Right from the beginning he was very caring, very understanding. No judgment," he says. "It set me at ease."
They knew a lot of the same people. The conversation flowed, and something shifted. "The people were fantastic," Mr. Boland says — staff members like Lori Pilosi and Ryan Collins in the recreation department, as well as the counselors and nurses. Everyone was working toward the same goal.
Dr. Samantha Fitz-Gerald, PsyD, clinical director at Geisinger Marworth, says every member of the care team brings something deeply personal to addiction treatment. "We're all coming from an empathetic approach," she says. "All of us have reasons for working in the field of addiction, whether it's personal experience, having family members who struggle with addiction or wanting to help someone change."
Mr. Boland stayed for the full 28 days, attending group sessions and individual counseling. The program laid out what came next: meetings in his area, sober support and recovery fundamentals.
"They were willing to let you get better at your own pace," he says.
His turning point came fast — on the second night at Marworth, while lying in bed, he felt something settle. A peace he hadn't known in years.
I can do this, he thought. He prayed a lot. "I knew I was in the right spot," he says. He also knew he had an incredible support system waiting — family who understood, friends in recovery and Kelly, who was willing to rebuild.
The program recommended 90 meetings in 90 days. He took that to heart. He also went back to coaching basketball. And he rebuilt trust with Kelly, piece by piece.
Paying it forward
Mr. Boland and Kelly are married and have children now. He works as the alumni director at Geisinger School of Medicine in Scranton — less than a mile from where he grew up.
"None of that would have happened," he says. "Zero. I might not even be alive for starters, but even if I was, I certainly wouldn't be married. We wouldn't have these beautiful children."
"It's like a burden was lifted," he adds. "And it gets lighter all the time."
Through it all, he didn't lose a single friendship. His family support remains strong. His job lets him tell his story to medical students. And he volunteers on Marworth's planning committee.
When someone calls asking for help, he picks up.
"The fact that people can trust me enough to rely on me when they're at their lowest means everything," he says. "Now I can be who I'm meant to be."
Sixteen years later, Mr. Boland's connection to Marworth hasn't faded. He keeps in touch with staff and stays connected to people he met as patients.
"I'll never be done with it," he says. "As long as I'm alive, I'm going to help in whatever way they need me to, whatever way they want me to."
It's exactly the kind of lasting recovery Dr. Fitz-Gerald sees when the program works as designed. Marworth runs "Gift of Hope," a program in which people with a year or more of sobriety come back on weekends to talk to current patients. They share stories, normalize the experience and prepare people for what comes after those 28 days.
"The biggest thing is being able to give these individuals the hope to grow while they're here and to be able to maintain these behaviors outside of treatment," Dr. Fitz-Gerald says.
The courage to ask
For Mr. Boland, the message to anyone considering treatment is simple.
"You're not alone," he says. "There's support out there. You just have to be courageous enough to ask for it." He adds, "I went in with no tools in my toolbelt, and I came out like Batman."
Those tools are still there, and they’re still helping him navigate his life and support others who need them.
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