Will I Keep my Driving Licence

Yesterday, I replied to a letter from the DVLA. I’ve been putting it off for a week because it might result in the loss of my driving licence.

I have Parkinson’s Disease, so I have to renew my licence every three years. Understandably, they want to know whether the condition affects my ability to drive safely. Sometimes it does, I’ll spare you the details, but no more than a blinding migraine would. Just as I wouldn’t drive with a migraine, neither would I drive when I am experiencing performance affecting PD symptoms. I did say that in the letter, but there is no guarantee that my declaration will sway their decision in my favour.

This leaves me with a couple of problems. Firstly, my mobility is poor. Without a car, I will be confined to the house when there is no-one to give me a lift. I could take a taxi but that is expensive. As an out-of-the-house sort of person, being more or less housebound is not a desirable prospect. The second problem is that my 16-year-old granddaughter, who lives with me, still relies quite often upon the taxi of Gran.

My life motto has been ‘For every problem there is probably a solution.’ So, to pre-empt utter desolation when it happens, and at some point it will, I am faced with finding that solution. The first issue is the more pressing. The answer lies in finding a way to get out and about. My initial plan is to work on my ability to walk. I have to admit to neglecting muscle strengthening exercise. It would be a start. There are lots of online classes I could attend without being embarrassed by a public display of my lack of fitness. I made a start yesterday by walking to the Chemist. OK it’s just around the corner but it’s further than I’ve walked for a long time. Today, I made it to church. My plan is to increase the distance every day. Some days I will fail, and I won’t beat myself up over it. By the end of the month, I hope to reach the local park or at the very least, a bus stop. Once I achieve that, possibilities begin to open up.

A couple of years ago, I bought a mobility scooter without realising that how difficult it would be to get it out of the house. As a result, it has taken up valuable space, an extra place on which to dump things on their way upstairs. This week I will have it serviced, work out how to get it in and out of the house and give it a maiden voyage around the surrounding streets.

I have worked out that what I spend on petrol would allow me to take a taxi into town and hire a mobility scooter from the Motability Store. I can shop, visit library and art gallery as well as one of the various community resources which fill the vacuum left by failed stores. (It’ll take a lot to fill the space once occupied by Wilko.)

The future Is beginning to look brighter. The thought of travelling regularly by public transport appeals to me. It would be quite pleasant not to have to contend with road works, other frustrated road-users or find parking spaces. I remember with fondness the many conversations I had with other public transport users before I could drive.

The second problem is much easier. In fact, it will be a useful learning curve for a girl intending to study in a major city in a couple of years. She is already becoming accustomed to taking the bus to college and into town – more worrying for me than for her. I mourn the passing of independence of young people. When I was a teenager, most parents didn’t drive, and my friends and I were used to getting around. When my granddaughter starts visiting night clubs, inevitable but scary, I will do as I did for my own children – leave enough money for a taxi fare by the front door.

Writing this post has been cathartic. I no longer fear the dreaded letter of execution dropping onto my doormat. I just hope it doesn’t happen this week.