Resident Reflections: To Drive or Not to Drive by Berdjouhi Esmerian
As the years go by, from birth to where we are at the moment, our bodies change. This is taken for granted. Looking at pictures, we see the gradual growing and maturing of our human body. Amazing changes take place from our birth to our teens, to our twenties, to our forties, to the sixties, and so on. As I look in the mirror, I cannot help wondering who that stranger is.
In addition, our body functions differently.
We realize that we are moving more slowly, there are some aches and pains in the joints as we stir, the sound on TV has to be turned up a little bit higher than usual, etc. Our memory starts playing tricks on us.
As I went through these various changes and reached my eighth decade, the day arrived when I had to make a very serious decision, even more serious than the one that brought me to Brickstone — it would be wise if I stopped driving. Each time I needed to go somewhere, I had to convince myself that I would be OK driving my car. I had gradually become uncomfortable and hesitated to get into it. Once I was behind the wheel and on the road, I did well, as good a driver as ever. Still, there were times when I knew my vision was not the best, I was slower than the average driver on the road, the GPS in my brain did not work as fast as before to get me to my destination, and at times, I felt as though I was in a fog.
As the months were going by, the car was in the garage more days than on the road, even for a short drive for an errand.
I mentioned to some friends that I was considering giving up driving. They tried to discourage me and convince me that I was a good driver and healthy and “too young” at almost 85 to make such a drastic decision. I would regret it, they said. I couldn’t survive in Rochester without a car, they continued.
I didn’t listen to them, and just around my 85th birthday, I called the dealer from whom I had bought my car and arranged for them to buy it back. They were delighted! A 2012 Subaru Legacy with four-wheel drive, not a scratch on the body, and just 45,000 miles on the odometer.
I did it.
How did I feel?
First, I had a blank and lost feeling. Then I started wanting to have my car back and drive somewhere with such a passion I couldn’t understand. Someone said I was grieving, another said I’d get used to it, and another one offered to get me anything I needed from the store. Nothing doing, I wanted to get into my car, any car, and drive. I missed it. I wanted to drive. I even considered actually buying another car. Then it hit me: I was having “car withdrawal” just like withdrawal for chocolate, cigarettes, or alcohol. This wasn’t grief, but true withdrawal.
As the weeks went by, I adjusted to a new way of life of planning very closely all my outings by asking for our Transportation Service or accepting friends’ offers to drive me somewhere.
Naturally, I cannot just go to Eastview Mall, the Yarn Shop, Wegmans, or anywhere else for an immediate need. I have to plan. And I now have more time to reorganize my apartment and to write.
My best consolation is that I don’t have to pay the high car insurance premium that a “senior” driver has to pay.