It was Autumn and that meant time to start sending out resumes. Graduation was still scheduled for December. I was hoping to get lucky, as people were telling me I may have to travel or live in Philadelphia to find a good job in the Social Work field. Lori wasn't going to be around soon for transportation. I needed to take another big step on the way to independence.
Not being able to drive bugged me. There is nothing worse than depending on someone else to get around. I knew guys like Wheelchair Willie who were in a chair and successfully drove. Why not me? I needed it for my career as well as my personal life.
Willie once had shown me how to drive his van when we were car-pooling together. "It's easy," he said. "You can even drive with your belly." And he did, laughing. He wanted to give me the confidence I lacked. I had a good pair of hands. Use them. I didn't need my legs to drive.
So I contacted Vocational Rehabilitation and asked if I could be a part of their adaptive driving program. They were only too happy to help now that college was almost over. I got an evaluation with one of the best rehabilitation hospitals in the area. I looked forward to it, my confidence high after all the recent successes in my life.
On an overcast, drizzly morning Mom and I arrived at the sprawling, one story hospital. It seemed like a cool place, ideal for those in wheelchairs or recuperating from accidents or life-changing surgery. Plenty of accessible parking places, automatic doors and ramps. A place where disability was the norm. The outside world would take a lesson from this place.
The purpose of the evaluation was to determine if I really could drive. If so, then what kind of modifications would be needed? What kind of adaptable car would I need? Or would a van be more realistic, with hand-controls and a wheelchair lift, similar to Willie's set-up?
I took a physical, then an eye exam and a coordination test. I thought I was just getting a booklet, maybe take a written test, then send me home to study and return to take the actual test. Instead, I transferred into an accessible car that was equipped with hand-controls, with an instructor by my side. He told me to take a spin around the parking lot.
They pulled the compact gray vehicle under the carport roof in the front of the building. Mom watched helplessly, just as nervous as I was.
Nervous wasn't the word. Scared to death! I was never behind a steering wheel before. The old sink or swim theory. While we were already in the car, originally just to get used to the hand-controls, the instructor suggested we go for a little drive. It was a nice idea until I realized that I would be doing the driving.
I wasn't sure about the hand-controls. Which was the brake and which was the gas? I froze and my mind went blank again. I couldn't remember which was which,, even after the instructor told me several times. Because of my short stature I had a hard time looking out the front windshield and over the hood. The rear-view mirror was challenging too. Even with the help of cushions to raise me higher it was difficult to see.
My first time on this side of a car. It felt like a dream. I was scared.
Guys like Willie, who drove before his accident, were familiar with the hand-controls along with the rules of the road. This was all new to me.
I fumbled with the ignition. I didn't even know how to start the damn car. I kept apologizing and the instructor patiently said it was OK but he still insisted on the spin. He had controls on his passenger's side of the car and could take over at any moment. Just relax.
The brakes screeched as we pulled away from the building The vehicle jerked as I tried to recall the hand-controls while trying to steer at the same time. The controls were extremely sensitive to touch, which I had to get used to. Since I was left-handed, everything was backwards. Maybe I was one of those guys who couldn't chew gum and walk at the same time? ( if I could walk).
The parking lot was full, which seemed odd to me. Don't you practice driving in an empty lot? I remember once being in the backseat at night in an empty supermarket parking lot in town when my father taught one of my older brothers how to drive. I laughed when he nearly drove up on a curb at one point. I wasn't laughing now.
I thought I was doing a respectable job at first. Oh, I drove on the grass a few times, nearly taking out a garden, and I kept forgetting to stay on my side of the road, little things like that.
Then it happened. The car didn't go the way I wanted it to, as if it had a mind of its own ( at least one of us did). The instructor grabbed the wheel swerving the car out of the way, just in time to avoid smashing into a parked car.
We came to a complete stop. He was frustrated, trying to hold in his anger. I was embarrassed and frightened., shaking all over. Right then, I never wanted to drive again, even though he made me drive back to the main entrance, still in one piece.
The sudden thunderstorm which was pelting the grounds with sheets of hard rain didn't help matters. I was trying to peer around the windshield wipers and raindrops, still trying to learn the hand-controls, still listening to the instructor, still trying not to hit other cars, my mind swirling. I was totally overwhelmed.
I let out a huge sigh of relief as I transferred back to my wheelchair. I would have nightmares about this experience for a long time. No one was hurt and nothing was damaged, other than my confidence, which was shattered.
The verdict was that maybe I could drive but I needed a lot of work. No kidding! Thirty-six lessons to be exact. And read the driving manual.
I confided in Mom n the way home that I never wanted to drive again. As always, she was supportive . "Whatever you want," she reassured. "Think about it."
I did, and I never went back for another try. I felt like a complete failure. I knew this was a major mistake. The rain, the inexperience, the inaccessible car, all made it a disaster. After overcoming so many obstacles in my way during my life I felt so low, giving up. Deep down inside I knew I could do it. But there also was a part of me, deep in my heart that said, maybe you can't. Maybe you're just not ready. Maybe in time you'll try again. Or maybe not.
Sometimes I had to accept the things I couldn't change. I was ashamed to see others with challenges, far more severe than mine, who were able to drive. People who only used their tongue or a few fingers to steer. I admired their determination and guts to even try. I still had a long way to go in life.
But I couldn't allow this one learning experience get me down. I was humbled for sure, and through this failure came more willingness to ask for help. I learned to take advantage of the local bus system and the new Paratransit. After the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed transportation was a little better, as folks with a disability could now ride an accessible, wheelchair-lift van, along with elderly passengers in the area. It was closer to independence.
Where there's a will there's a way, and I couldn't let one mountain stop me from trying to conquer the next. Just go around the first mountain, I learned. Whatever it takes to get to the other side, even if your'e not driving the car.
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