This is an opinion/humor column in that the author is of the opinion there’s humor in this column. The views are solely those of Mike Oliver and do not reflect those of AL.com — and especially not the views of Catherine.
I gave up driving some time ago.
As a 59-year-old man living with Lewy body dementia, I believed I was doing myself and others a favor by turning the wheel over.
The view from the passenger side has given me a totally different perspective, onefueled by adrenaline and abject terror.
Every day I gather my stuff together, grab a cup of coffee and hurry outside to the passenger seat. My wife, Catherine, is waiting which I can see but she tells me anyway. She’s in the driver’s seat.
Many days I arrive at my Birmingham office white=knuckled and covered in a nice cold layer of sweat.
“Bye bye dear,” my wife Catherine says as I practically roll out of the car – though she usually slows down a bit.
On those really bad days where my hands are a vise grip on arm rests, she finds it helpful to pull my pinky finger back first in order for the rest of my fingers to relinquish their grip. She learned that in a self-defense class some years ago.
“Aaaaauuuugghh,” I scream.
On this particular day, I wasn’t sure how I went from vise grips to lying on the street. But I popped up, brushed off my clothes and snatched my nearby backpack containing my laptop just seconds before it would have been crushed under the wheels of a 10-ton transit bus.
“That was close,” my lovely wife noticed and felt the urge to verbalize.
You think? Captain Obvious.
I kept that thought to myself. But I continued my silent thought:
Sure it was close but not as close as you came to hitting a garbage dumpster about 10 minutes ago as you tried to shoot the narrow gap on a merge between a car and the aforementioned dumpster.
The dumpster was on my side – the passenger side — and appeared to be coming at me at 50 mph.
“Honey slow down now,” I said gently. “We are coming to a merge here. Um, there’s a merge here. Catherine? We are not going to make that gap. Catherine, seriously the car won’t fit in that space, slow down.”
I think she sped up to get ahead of the car. My voice got a little louder.
“HONEY YOU ARE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT THROUGH THERE!
S-L-O-W T-H-E F-U-D-G-E D-O-W-N
I actually don’t know if I fell asleep for a few seconds or just closed my eyes, whatever my body’s adrenal glands were plain used up. No crash noise did I hear. No scraping the top of the car off by a dumpster sized can opener. Regaining consciousness, my head was on a swivel looking back and front, incredulous that she once again had threaded the needle.
I gathered myself and was almost inaudible. “I did not think you could make that.”
She was humming along with a song on the radio.
She wasn’t even listening to me at this point. I think she was still a bit angry because early in the trip when I yelled ‘Watch Out’ at the top of my lungs. Turns out she didn’t really need to watch out. My bad, sheesh, no need to hold a grudge.
To be fair, I have found that it’s not just Catherine who drives like this. It’s practically every single person who takes me somewhere pulls these scary maneuvers on what seems like every single trip when I am in the passenger seat.
How could this be?
From my new vantage point, maybe I’m coming to some truths about myself and others and the difficulties it is to be more dependent on others.
The passenger side takes me away from my comfort zone and into a world where I have to learn to accept that I am dependent on other human beings.
Yes, the passenger side has given me new perspectives and confirmed a perspective I already suspected:
I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS HOW TO DRIVE.
Mike Oliver can be reached at moliver@AL.com. Read his blog about living with Lewy body dementia at www.myvinylcountdown.com
I have also given up driving due to sepsis leaving me with cognitive issues. I find its better to ride in the back. I can hit the imaginary brake petal without anyone knowing. Also closing your eyes helps. Jesus take the wheel!
Good luck Kathy. It’s taken some getting used to being more reliant on others.