We Took Away His License
Sat., August 24, 02:52 PM
We Took Away His License
You may find this piece totally irrelevant, but I will, I’m sure, be referring back to it. In one sense it is a terrible thing, to have taken away a piece of someone’s independence. It’s not something we did lightly.
Husband learned to drive when he was in the military, some fifty-plus years ago. As long as I knew him, he was always an adequate driver. When he retired, he pointed out that he needed something to drive around in, and I agreed. That little “Ta-yoder,” as he called it, finally bit the dust, and our U.D. went with him to replace it. Actually, he was only there for appearance’ sake. She was the one who looked at the cars, test drove them, and discussed them with the dealer. And Husband made the final choice, a 1998 Geezermobile. He paid for it, although I wrote the check, arranged for insurance, and so forth. They had chosen this rather large car, U.D. told me, because he would be better protected if he hit something. Great!
An explanation: among the most dangerous drivers on the road are the old geezers who are really not capable of driving any more. You can usually identify them by the big cars they drive, the kind that were popular when they were young. As they grew older and more affluent, the badge of success was to drive one of these big cars – Cadillacs, Lincolns, Oldsmobiles. In the late nineties, a sort of bronze color was available that seemed to appeal to the seniors. (If they couldn’t afford a bronze Cadillac, they might choose a bronze Chevy.) There are several of these Geezermobiles in our neighborhood.
Even more dangerous than the geezers are their widows, who inherited these huge boats and don’t have the sense to trade them in for something smaller and easier to handle. (They’re probably still quoting their late husbands, “those little cars aren’t safe, especially the foreign ones.”) When you see a Geezermobile crawling down the highway, your best bet is to stay out of the way!
So now Husband once more had his own car, and he could go shopping (he knows all about senior discount days) whenever he wanted. But as I watched him drive, I grew more and more apprehensive. Was he going to get home, or would I get a call from the police? His hearing is not what it should be, and that’s compounded by the fact that he just doesn’t pay much attention to what’s going on around him. In addition, he was very sneaky about not taking all his medications.
U.D. told him she would report him to the Department of Motor Vehicles if he didn’t take his meds, but I was still finding them on the floor where he had missed the wastebasket. It was bad enough that he was endangering his health, but I was also ticked that he was throwing away a few dollars’ worth of pills because “no one is going to tell him what to do.” Finally U.D. did indeed phone Motor Vehicles.
They did not summarily forbid him to drive. They sent a form for his doctor to complete (medical condition, medications, etc.), and then scheduled him for retesting. He was furious. “I’m not going. I’m not taking any test.” I asked him why not; didn’t he think he was capable of passing the test? (I didn’t think so, but I’m no expert.) “I can’t pass a written test.” No one said anything about a written test; I pointed out that all he had to do was a vision test and a road test, and he grudgingly agreed to go. (As if he had a choice.) The notice specified that he was not to drive himself, and I promised to take him. I even told him he could use my car for the test, since it’s easier to drive. (And then I had saved myself from having to drive the Geezermobile!)
I drove him to Motor Vehicles. I don’t think he even remembered how to get there, though it hasn’t moved in the last twenty years (not paying attention). He took the vision test and passed it. It was time for the road test. I went outside with him and the inspector to show him where I had parked the car. I helped him in and, when he couldn’t manage the seat belt, I fastened it. Then I said to the inspector, “Okay if I go back in? I’d rather not watch.”
I know Husband didn’t hear what I said, but if he saw me talking to the inspector he probably thought I was slandering him.
When they came back inside, the inspector told him to wait while he printed up the results of the test. So Husband sat down with me and said, “I did okay. Even on the highway.” He took my car on the highway? Aaugh! Well, he did bring it back in one piece.
Then the inspector called him in to explain the results of the test. Among other things, he had driven too fast on the city streets and too slowly on the highway (lack of control), and he needed help with the seat belt (oops!). He didn't use the mirrors to back up, but opened the door instead. The inspector was very nice and gentle with him. He didn’t mention Husband's hearing (or lack of it), though he may have noticed it. In any case, they were keeping his license.
Husband was furious – again. We must have set him up. Everybody was out to get him. It is possible to retake the test, but he’s not going back there. U.D. and I promised to drive him anywhere he wants to go – and we do, although I make one exception: I will not drive him to the cigarette store. (But she will; as long as she smokes too, she has no excuse.)
I feel safer now, except for one thing. He has no picture identification. (Pasting a photo on his Medicare card does not constitute a valid picture ID.) Motor Vehicles will issue a non-driving photo ID, but he’s not going back there. I have pointed out that he cannot travel by plane and, since September 11, he cannot even travel by Amtrak without that ID. I’ll keep mentioning that, and maybe one day he will decide to go get his picture taken.
