Aging and night driving: When your headlights are bright but your eyes aren’t!

Aging and night driving: When your headlights are bright but your eyes aren’t!

BY SHELLEY TERRY

shelleyterry24@gmail.com

Apparently, medians are not as forgiving as I once thought.

A few nights ago, found myself navigating the dark, winding roads of an unfamiliar town. It was one of those charmingly quaint places where streetlights are dim, the signs are vague, and the locals keep their laughter under wraps, likely due to past experience with tourists. As I squinted into the night, I prayed my aging eyesight would hold up, but, it did not.

I’m a sprightly 68-year-old retiree, who was feeling confident as I navigated my way home after a delightful evening with friends. The laughter of the earlier get-together danced in my head as I drove down the busy highway. 

“You’ve got this,” I whispered to myself as I approached an intersection, ready to make a grand left turn. Spoiler alert: I did not “have this.”

As I approached a dimly lit intersection, I spotted a left turn lane. I squinted and leaned forward, as if that would magically improve my vision. It didn't, but I proceeded anyway.

As I started to turn the steering wheel, I strained to see the left turn lane that was more hidden than my willpower at a dessert buffet. With all the grace of a newborn giraffe, I maneuvered my car, ready to strut right into that lane. Instead, I made a sharp left into the large, cement median.

To my horror, there was a jarring crunch and a terrible grinding sound. My mind raced to interpret the sound. Was it a fender-bender or the sound of my dignity crashing to the ground?

I pulled my vehicle off the road while I envisioned the myriad ways to explain this to my husband. "So I was trying to make a left turn, and I" — I don't know how to finish that sentence without losing all credibility. Then a light bulb went off in my head.

I was cruising along the road like a champion driver, when suddenly — BAM! I hit a cement median. Panic set in faster than a sprinter on a caffeine rush, and I had to think on my feet. I concocted a genius story that I saw a chair in the middle of the road and swerved to miss it, thus hitting the median.

Was it believable? Probably not. I could imagine the eye rolls as I delivered the punchline, "But don't worry, I can see just fine at night."

Nope. Only the truth would work. I'm notoriously a terrible liar.

After my car stopped with a thud, I jumped out to access the damage. Even though it was dark, I could see that the two driver’s side tires and rims decided they no longer wished to partake in this driving adventure. 

As I called for a wrecker, I prayed no one would plow into me. I glanced around to see if I had an audience. Thank goodness for small mercies: the side street where I parked my traumatized Toyota was delightfully empty, as if it knew not to witness my humiliation.

While anxiously waiting for the tow truck, I called my daughter. Surely, she would be sympathetic to my situation.

"Do I have to take your keys away?" she said, half-jokingly.

"NO!" I said. "If the Department of Motor Vehicles ever takes my license away, I won't let it dampen my spirits — I will get new wheels: a golf cart!"

An active senior, I will don my oversized sunglasses and cap that says, "Fore!" as I zoom around the 55 and older neighborhood, waving at startled squirrels and confused walkers. My electric golf cart will be the envy of the retirement community. With a top speed of about 10 mph and a sound that can only be described as a soft "purr," I will declare myself the champion of the local golf cart gran prix.

Who needs a driver's license when you can creatively navigate the road in a jazzy golf cart? At least that's what I told my daughter. I don't know if she believed me, but it made her laugh

After that somewhat unpleasant conversation, I sat in the driver's seat and contemplated my situation. The first being: what has happened to my eyes? I just had my cataracts removed in November. What the heck? Am I so old that I can’t see the road without ample street lighting?

This was not how I pictured my evening; I envisioned myself visiting a good friend in her nearby home. We planned on catching up over dinner and drinks. I would tell her about my arthritic hands and she would tell me about her bad knees. I pictured our laughter filling the room, echoing the shared wisdom that while our bodies may be giving out, our spirits are armed with a hefty dose of humor and a cache of old grandma sayings and remedies that would make a witch doctor raise an eyebrow!

Instead of enjoying all that imagined fun, I thought, "I engaged in a one-sided argument with a piece of cement."

I fiddled with my phone, half-heartedly scrolling through social media while pondering the wisdom of my youthful bravado. Surely, my friends and classmates would understand my plight. 

When the tow truck arrived, I expected the driver to throw me a sympathetic smile. He did not disappoint. Such a nice man! I joked that I was starting a support group: “Old Folks Who Can’t Drive After Dark Anonymous.” 

“It happens,” he said. 

A flicker of hope and understanding, he asked for $165 in cash or credit card. Luckily, I had my husband's credit card with me. I chuckled to myself thinking of Hubby's face when he sees the bill. He won't be happy, that's for sure.

About this time, my daughter arrived to pick me up. She was a bit grumbly about me interrupting her Saturday night date. I gently reminded her of the hundreds of times I picked her up from the movie theater, school activities, etc.

So here I am, an independent woman living her best wintertime life in sunny Florida, vowing to give up my nighttime adventures behind the wheel. Instead, I’ll embrace the daylight. And if I find myself needing to drive at night again? Let’s just say I’ll make sure I’m driving an Army tank. Apparently, medians are not as forgiving as I once thought.