My
husband and I live in a rural area. It’s at least a 30 minute
drive to get to places for shopping and other business. This is not a
good situation for someone with a fear of riding in a vehicle.
I
suffer from amaxophobia. I fear riding in a vehicle. Amaxophobia
prevents me from visiting my daughter in Baltimore, 374 miles away
from where I live in New York. It prevents me from going to see my
grandchildren, 368 miles away in Connecticut. My fear has gotten to
the point that I can’t even tolerate a 2 hour drive to Syracuse
to see my son and daughter-in-law. My husband and I both suspect my
fear is rooted in a fear of losing control.
I
am hyper-vigilant as I look out the car window. I can’t stop
the intrusive thoughts and imaginings of the worst scenarios. The
oncoming traffic whizzes by with such a small margin for error. The
lanes seem so narrow. I tense up when our vehicle drifts even
slightly in its lane. I feel like the car is soaring with nothing to
tether it to the road. Even on gentle curves, I have white-knuckle
grips on anything my hands can reach. It doesn’t take much for
me to start panicking. I am triggered by any increase in speed. I
have a knee-jerk reaction of alarm when I see anything potentially
dangerous on the road. If there’s snow on the road, there’s
no question, I am staying home. If it’s
snowin’, I’m not goin’.
I
try to make conversation to distract myself, or try focusing on the
variety of houses and scenery along the road, or just try to convince
myself my fears are irrational. I’ve tried playing travel
games. I’ve tried reading. I’ve even tried being the
driver, but that definitely is not an option. I’m the
quintessential woman driver, gripping the steering wheel with
white-knuckle grips and creeping along at a snail’s pace.
What
does a panic attack in a vehicle look like? What does it sound like?
It’s not pretty. Bob, my husband, says I act like a child
having a tantrum - shrieking, shouting, stomping my feet, trembling,
covering my face and whimpering into my hands. Bob is usually
understanding when I get stressed over minor stuff. But, he says my
overreactions startle him and could cause him to lose control of the
vehicle, which is my worst nightmare.
I
was not always amaxophobic. It was just the opposite. As a child I
traveled all over the U.S. and Canada with my family and I had no
problem at all. When did this fear begin? Why is a need for control
so important to me?
I’ve
been in seven car accidents in my life. Most of them were just fender
benders. Two of the accidents were serious crashes. Did these two
crashes plant the seeds for my future phobia to take root and begin
to grow?
The
first crash happened in the fall of 1971 when my friend, Chris, was
driving us back to college after spending a weekend at her home.
Chris was driving north on a major highway when her car went off the
road and hit a guard rail at a high rate of speed. The car was
totaled. I remember getting out of the car and standing on the side
of the road. Other motorists stopped to offer assistance while we
waited for emergency help to arrive. I felt faint and was told to
lower my head as far down as possible. Chris was uninjured, but I had
a head injury and went to the hospital to get stitches. The accident
was blamed on a blown tire. Back at college, Chris and I carried on
with classes and tried to put this event behind us. I was
self-conscious about my appearance with stitches in my head and my
hair shaved around the area of the injury. Chris was a friendly
person and she had a group of personal friends who comforted her. I
remember starting to be afraid of traveling on any road with a speed
limit higher than about 45 miles an hour. Could this accident be the
beginning of my amaxophobia?
My
other serious accident happened on March 29, 1984. I was attempting
to drive on an icy road on my way to daycare and then to work. My 3-
month-old daughter, Holly, was in her car seat next to me in the
front. My 3-year-old son, David, was in a booster seat in the back
behind me. I never made it to daycare and work that day. I don’t
remember losing control of my car and crashing into a tree in an
apple orchard. I vaguely remember waking up in the ambulance and
someone saying, “Don’t let her see him.” I woke up
fully at the hospital when x-rays were being taken. I remember being
in pain, especially when the technician moved me into positions for
each x-ray. The x-rays showed that my only broken bone was my left
index finger. Other than that, I had cuts and bruises on my knee, a
bruised jaw, and a chipped front tooth. My bruised jaw made it hard
for me to open my mouth and talk. I remember my parents came to see
me when I had just finished x-rays. Dad was carrying Holly and he
showed her to me as I laid there on my back. Mom and Dad were intent
on telling me that Holly had been examined and found to be uninjured.
They were earnest about bringing me that good news. I wish I could’ve
talked more to express my gratitude to them for bringing Holly and
trying to cheer me up.
We
didn’t know the full extent of David’s injuries at that
point. but we knew he needed stitches to close a laceration across
his eye lids and over the bridge of his nose. I remember we exclaimed
often in the coming weeks about the excellent job the doctor did with
the stitches in such a sensitive area of David’s face. After
the stitches were in place, David was transferred to Strong Memorial
Hospital in Rochester NY for further medical care.
I want to explain
that at the time of the accident David was sitting in a booster seat in
the back behind me. His seat was restrained with the seatbelt across
his lap, but his upper body had no restraint. In those days seatbelts
in the back seat had no upper body restraint. It is obvious that
David’s booster seat and lap seatbelt were not adequate for protecting
him. I’m not sure what the regulations were in 1984 for a child of
David’s age and size. Regulations, or no regulations, we should have
made sure David was completely protected in the car.
I
was in Lakeside Hospital for two days. While I was there I had
visitors. Coworkers from my elementary school came to visit. It was
nice of them to show their concern for me, but their visits were
awkward with me having a bruised jaw that made it hard for me to talk
or even smile. My coworkers didn’t seem to know what to say to
me. They mostly talked to each other. The wife of our highway
superintendent visited me. She told me her husband felt responsible
for my accident because the road was not cleared of ice. The
principal of my school visited and joked that crashing into a tree
was not a good excuse for missing my yearly observation/evaluation
that was scheduled for the day of the accident. My parents visited
several times and brought Holly with them. Mom told me she was able
to get the blood stains out of the outfit I was wearing on the day of
the crash. Mom has a way of looking for positives even if it’s
only good news about clothes. I’m glad she was able to get the
stains out because the outfit was one of my favorites and I wore it
that day because I wanted to look my best for the principal’s
evaluation.
The following
writing is drawn from my memories and from notes that I wrote at the
time.
At
Strong Memorial Hospital David was diagnosed with a closed skull
fracture. He didn’t need surgery, but he was monitored closely
by pediatric specialists. He had periodic x-rays to check for brain
swelling. When I was released from medical care on March 31, Mom
drove me to Strong to be with David. I was apprehensive as we took
the elevator to the pediatric floor. I lagged behind as Mom led me to
David’s room. As much as I wanted to be with David and I knew
this reunion was inevitable, I was afraid to see him and know the
full extent of his injuries. The closer we got to David’s room,
the faster Mom seemed to go and the farther I lagged behind. I
remember she called back to me, “It’s okay”. Bob’s
parents and my Dad were at David’s bedside. They were all
waiting to see the reunion. As I stepped into the room I was alarmed
by David’s appearance, but I kept my composure. He was propped
up in bed and I think I remember he turned his head toward me as I
walked in. He had been semi-comatose and he was just coming out of
that state. I don’t remember exactly how I interacted with him,
but I must have talked to him in a calm and comforting way. He was a
miserable little guy with the area around his eyes all black and blue
and purple and his eyes swollen shut. His stitches were prominent as
they went straight across both eye lids and the bridge of his nose.
We were able to lift him out of bed and hold him. He couldn’t
see us because his eyes were swollen shut, but he was comforted when
we held him.
In
the next few days he opened his right eye a crack and we could see
the blue showing through. A beautiful sight! He opened both eyes a
little wider each day as the swelling decreased. And then he smiled
at me and Bob, and he smiled at his baby sister. We loved seeing his
smiles and knowing he was starting to feel better.
We
got him out of bed and helped him stand and start to walk. He was a
bit wobbly at first and he ran into things if we didn’t hold
his hand. He walked faster and faster around the unit and out into
the hall to the elevator and back. He still didn’t talk, but he
hugged people. Hugging was his way of connecting with people.
He
was released from the hospital after being there for two weeks.
At
home he was frustrated because he wanted to play, but couldn’t.
We looked for any improvements each day, like being able to stand and
balance and bend over to pick something up. He said his first word
five weeks after the accident. He said, “Mommy”.
Easter
was late in April. In Easter pictures David’s face still shows
a red area around his eyes where the injury was still healing. It
would never heal completely. David will always have a scar over the
bridge of his nose.
After
Easter break I had to return to work. It felt strange to be back in
my classroom after the trauma of the accident. I had to get back into
the swing of things. Fortunately, my room full of active
kindergarteners quickly helped me acclimate. There’s nothing
like a class of 5 and 6 year olds to get your mind off the past and
attend to the immediate tasks at hand.
I
returned to school just in time for registration night for next
year’s incoming kindergarteners. Kindergarten teachers and
administrators went out to eat before the registration. I remember
feeling self-conscious at the restaurant. It had been barely a month
since the accident and I was still emotionally and physically
affected. I remember awkwardly pushing food into my mouth because my
jaw still hurt. At the registration I focused on the paperwork and
families, but wished I wasn’t still at school that evening.
During
the summer David was referred to Rainbow Preschool, a preschool for
children with special needs. We attended an open house where we met
the teachers and explored the classroom. I remember the first day
David was picked up to go to preschool. The bus was new to him and he
didn’t want to get on that bus. I didn’t blame him. He
had already been through so much, and now I was putting him on a bus
with people he didn’t know. It took a lot of coaxing and gentle
lifting to get him on the bus and buckled into his seat. It broke my
heart to see the bus take him away. He was only three years old. He
wanted his mommy. Within a few days, David got used to getting on the
bus and spending mornings at preschool. Having Holly at home was a
godsend. Taking care of her was a happy distraction.
My
grandmother said there was gossip among the old ladies in town that
if I hadn’t been on that icy road the accident wouldn’t
have happened. The ladies said I should have been at home taking care
of my children myself. My grandmother went on to say she spoke up to
the old ladies and explained I was doing my best to help support my
family by having a career. Grandma also said that even she
had been a
working mom because her
family needed the extra income. “Thank you, Grandma, for
speaking up to the gossipers and defending my choice to have a career
and be on the road to work.”
David
is 44 years old now. He has challenges in life. He can’t live
independently because of disabilities caused by the brain injury in
the accident. He lives in a group home and works at a sheltered
workshop. Sometimes I think I’m in denial about how much the
brain injury has affected his life. Do I blame myself for David’s
brain injury because his booster seat was not adequate to protect him
in the accident? Of course, I do. Does David blame me? I don’t
think so. In fact, he seems to worship me. He follows me everywhere
and talks to me nonstop when we bring him home on weekends. I know he
wishes he had a normal adult life with independence, and I hope he
knows how much I wish that for him also.
This
writing experience has helped me zero in on the cause of my
amaxophobia. It’s all about a fear of losing control Having
this better understanding does not magically erase my fear, but it
gives me a new perspective to build on as I confront my phobia.
When
David was discharged from Strong Memorial a doctor said, “He
will be fine.” The doctor meant he will be fine compared to
children with more severe injuries, but I didn’t understand
that at the time. I expected David to fully recover and go on to live
a normal life. We would soon discover he would not be completely
fine. He will always have challenges in his life, just as I have
challenges in mine. This writing effort has helped me understand and
accept our challenges.
Contact
Patricia (Unless
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