Getting behind the wheel is beginning to feel a bit like Russian roulette.
I learned to drive in Dallas, Texas in my twenties in the early 1990s. It was do or die.
I’ve been a confident, competent driver for many years. I’ve loved the sense of freedom and independence.
In the last five years disability has become an official label on my life. Things have incrementally changed and sometimes those changes have been almost imperceptible to me.
Occasional zoning out and random forgetfulness have made for some entertaining milk in the cabinet, cereal in the fridge type of stories.
But then there’s the whole driving thing.
Over the past five years my skills have noticeably declined. I’ve found myself increasingly reluctant to be in the driver’s seat.
Yesterday I had our vehicle to go to an appointment. I had just made a familiar turn at the light to cross the freeway.
I crushed the brakes hard when I snapped to and realized what what was happening.
My brain simply did not register the next light at all until the last minute as if it tuned out for a few seconds.
The week before that I turned at another familiar intersection, became confused and stopped at a light that wasn’t intended for me in the middle of the lane.
Other drivers shot me some very strange looks, but there was no one behind me. It could have been a lot worse.
I believe God protected me, but I’m seeing a pattern. Although I feel a sense of loss and frustration, driving just doesn’t seem like an option anymore.
I mean, what else can a conscionable person do?