I wake up. I hear the kids downstairs. Next to me Dave is still sleeping. I breathe deeply and I am filled with resolve. Today is the day. Today is the day I test my ability to drive.
I thought yesterday was the day. It wasn’t. Instead I napped. So much is riding on my ability to drive. If I can’t then I have to figure out a way to get both myself and the kids to school. Their current rides don’t have room for another adult. If I can’t drive, the increased pressure and responsibility on Dave continues. If I can’t drive, I will feel weak. Everything feels hard when you are stuck.
I rouse myself from bed and stumble downstairs. I announce that the kids need to get ready to go to mass and am met with screams of agony. Bodies are flailed. How dare I interrupt their screen time!
We are going to mass. Our school/parish has a source of support and prayer during this time. The parish emailed me earlier in the week to ask if they could add me to the prayers of the faithful. I politely declined being added to the weekend mass, but allowed it at the school mass that week. There are people in my community who need prayers more and I ask her to please add a student to the list.
Going to mass is scary. I feel on display. Ask any teacher and they will tell you that they have no problem speaking in front of crowds of students, but put us in front of adults, we are just as nervous as anyone else. I’m nervous. I feel people staring at me, some because they are aware of what has happened, others because they wonder what the heck is going on with me.
Robin has decided this is the mass he is going to misbehave. Stuttering threats under my breath does not have the same effect. When we get to the prayers of the faithful I am relieved to not hear my name, but the student’s instead.
I feel the stress building. It’s my least favorite part of mass. My right hand has been shaking the entire mass. Do I attempt to hold hands with the stranger next to me? If I hold her hand lightly, I will shake. If I hold her hand more firmly, my eyes will violently open and close. I don’t hold her hand. With Eileen’s hand in my left, I let my right hand shake through the “Our Father.”
It’s time for the sign of peace. Eileen is next to me. She will be the first person I greet. That was easy. I turn to the woman to my right and offer a shaky hand. She seems unsure of how to respond. The older gentleman behind me is less awkward. The sign of peace ends. I survived.
But then I realize what awaits me….the communion line. I will be on parade! I feel so self conscious as I make my way up to the altar. Whether it’s true or not, I feel like all eyes are on me. A few people wave to me.
I came to mass almost as a test. It’s time for me to begin to go back out into the world. It’s scary. I notice that when I’m anxious, my body tremors pick up a notch.
We return home. I’m exhausted and fall asleep. When I come downstairs later Dave asks if I have tried driving yet. No. What’s that? There are dishes in the sink. I think I will do them. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll just do a few more things.
Finally, I take two gabapentin. I wait about 20 minutes and then grab my keys. I can do this. I get into my minivan and adjust the seat and mirrors. I am grateful it is an automatic. I take a deep breath. I can do this. I put the car in reverse and drive the one and a half blocks to the elementary school.
The muscles around my mouth twitch wildly, my right hand gentle trembles on the steering wheel, but my eyes stay open. I turn into the school parking lot and drive through to the exit. I make a right turn out of the parking lot and drive home. I pull into our driveway, stop the car, and then remember to breathe. I did it! I drove the car and I felt in control!
I walk into the house and announce my success. At this point I feel confident that I can drive to and from work. The stress slowly melts away and I feel tension release throughout my body. I’m not ready for lengthier trips just yet, but my life is slowly returning. I drove a car , my eyes stayed open, and no one got hurt.