Driving Miss Tammy

I knew the relationship with my car was coming to an end.  Having always been a good driver, confidence had never been an issue–now it was. As I aged and my ataxia progressed, there were more visual changes*. I had already limited my car excursions**, but in my mind, that was no longer enough.  I still had the judgement and cognitive ability to avoid being a careless driver, but not the visual precision and motor reflexes necessary to avoid the careless driver.  I was happy to have anyone else drive, but the further loss of my independence was one more humiliation bullet to bite.

It doesn't matter what accident circumstances are.  In our litigious society, a person with the overt disability will always be seen "at fault".  One look at a walker in the back seat, and my soon-to-be former insurance company would just write the check.  I had to face up to not only increasing the risk of injury, but threatening our financial security as well.  My impaired mobility made it more difficult to respond to even a minor fender–bender. 

The numbers just aren't in my favor.  Demographically speaking, as this generation ages, there will be increasing numbers of impaired drivers, more traffic and (gulp) more cases of road rage.  I'm definitely no match for an angry driver—couldn't even dial 9-1-1 fast enough.

As I pondered the 'Is it time?' question, I thought back on the reasons and timelines my parents gave up driving.  Taking a senior's keys can be a major struggle.  My mother would say she preferred not to drive as early as sixty.  We thought she was being overly cautious and just needed our support and encouragement.  She never fessed up to being terrified behind the wheel.  That was too big a threat to her self–esteem.  Maybe it was an early manifestation of ataxia*** or lack of confidence, but I completely missed her fear and can only see it in retrospect.  Sorry, Ada.

Lanny, Ada ('45–'96), Verda ('98–2008)

My father's second career had been with the Department of Motor Vehicles.  He had often been put in the position of suggesting to an elder that it was time to surrender the driver's license.  But since he had no authority, he could only refer back to the family or healthcare provider.  The good news is that he just stopped driving when he no longer felt confident behind the wheel at all times of the day.  The bad news is that he relinquished driving duties to his second wife, Verda.  She was a lovely lady, but determined to maintain her independence at all cost and drive into her 90s (give me strength).  Fortunately, no one was harmed in her four accidents. They were bizarre, but not lethal.  The final straw came a year (2009) after my father died.  I received a call from the police to come get my stepmother.  It was five years ago and I was still ambulatory.  Verda had driven to downtown Portland, became confused and lost.  She gave up driving at 92 rather than endure any more of my wrath.  But in her mind, it was voluntary and entirely her decision.

George, Theresa & Sons; with Earl '65; with Dorothy

Like Verda, Earl's father George didn't give up easily. He had navigated the LA freeway system for at least half a century and saw no reason to quit.  Fate was on his side as well, as he neither sustained nor caused physical injury to himself or anyone else. "The concrete wall in the parking garage just got in my way."  The best accident cause was "there was a slick spot on the freeway and I hit it."  Really, Dad?  His second wife, Dorothy, was scared to death (but still willing) to ride in the car when George was driving.  I realized then that logic often doesn't enter the equation when a person is facing a loss of freedom.  Finally, reluctantly, and to everyone's relief, he surrendered his car keys.  Then again, maybe Dorothy just hid them.

Since my carpool days are behind me, I'm accustomed to the optional nature of my driving.  Becoming a non–driver puts even more burden on Earl, family, friends, and Sandie. Surrendering my license at this point in time might be premature (I can live with that), but 'too late' could be disastrous.  Up until now, although Skeeter has been a form of transportation, she is primarily recreational.  Now, she can go with me to my nail appointments, but I'll have to figure out something else for breakfast and haircuts.

The lesson:  Cost benefit analysis: It's just not worth it.  Is everyone relieved?

*Previous post:  We Have Contact
**Previous post:  Rules of the Road
***Previous post: Thanks, Mom