u/Individual-Unit3470

In Part 1, I talked about how I learned to drive with cerebral palsy using my feet. But this story picks up about 20 years later. By my mid-to-late 40s, I had been driving with my feet for over two decades and felt really comfortable doing it. Then, out of the blue, I started experiencing what I perceived as slow reaction time getting my foot from the gas to the brake. I had a couple of instances where I actually had panic attacks behind the wheel because I didn't feel like I was in control of the vehicle. I was terrified that I was going to crash and hurt someone. It turned out that the loss of reaction time was the result of cervical spinal stenosis, but I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that I was losing my confidence behind the wheel.

It got to the point where I took myself off the road and started using a combination of Uber and my girlfriend to get where I needed to go while I tried to figure out what was going on. After about six months to a year of getting my cervical stenosis identified and treated, I finally had surgery. I stayed off the road for another six months or so after surgery, but that got old quick, so I decided I would learn how to drive with hand controls.

One side note: I actually did try to go back to driving with my feet after surgery. That didn't go so well. I ended up totaling my car by running into the back of a parked tractor trailer. My foot felt like it stuck to the gas when I pulled out of a bank parking lot, and the next thing I knew, my car was hooked on the guillotine bar of the trailer. The truck driver was inside getting a cup of coffee at the time. No damage to the truck, but my car was totaled. I can laugh about it now. I looked at the wreckage and thought to myself, "Well, that's that. Time to go to hand controls."

So, to me the next logical step was to find a driving school that taught people how to use hand controls, which I did. They had someone come out (at a cost of $250, I might add) for a lesson. The thing is, it was less of a lesson and more of a medical intake. I explained that I had been driving for over 20 years and just wanted some lessons on how to use hand controls. That didn't matter. They had their "system." First, I had to take a battery of cognitive screening tests that were really meant for people with dementia: remembering words, connecting numbered dots in order, drawing a clock. I was like, "Look, I don't have dementia. I work full time. I'm just looking for lessons on how to use hand controls." The tests continued anyway. I later learned this was called a cognitive screening battery. A total waste of my time.

After the ridiculous testing was over, the "driving rehabilitation specialist" went on to tell me that it would take about a year to get my license. After that, we were finally able to go for a quick test drive. She had me drive about a mile up my quiet street and back, and then said, "Oh, maybe you can drive." I told her, again, that I had been driving for 20 years, so that really didn't come as a surprise. Then she went right back to the same old drivel about what a long process it would be to get my license. I already HAD my license, for over 20 years!

At the end, as she was leaving, she asked, "What's wrong?" I said, "Oh, nothing. Thanks, bye."

After that debacle, I knew I had to go in another direction.

So I said, "Screw this, I'll just get a car, have hand controls installed, and teach myself." Little did I know that the system was designed to stop me from doing exactly that. I reached out to a place that installed adaptive equipment, and they told me that I needed a prescription from a licensed driving rehabilitation specialist. I later learned that wasn't 100% accurate. You can actually get a prescription from any licensed physician.

Anyway, I finally found a place in Massachusetts that would install the hand controls without a prescription. In the end, I bought my car in Massachusetts, had it shipped to the installer (which, lucky for me, happened to be close to the dealership), had the hand controls installed, and then had them drop the car off at my house. What a hassle!

From there, I started a combination of training, both on my own and with a buddy of mine who also has CP. To his credit, he was like, "We are getting you back on the road, my friend." It took a while, but as time passed I got more and more comfortable with the hand controls. Now I use them full time and barely even remember driving with my feet.

Bottom line, once again the system was specifically designed to keep people with CP off the road. But the CP community looks out for its own.

Hats off to my buddy Dean, who took the bull by the horns and gave me the lessons I actually needed. He later explained that a friend of his with CP had helped him learn how to drive, so he was paying it forward. And hats off to Teddy Z, who taught Dean, who in turn taught me.

You would think that's the end of the story, but there is actually a "Part 2.5" to this, involving a buddy of mine with spina bifida, happening now. Part 2.5 coming soon.

TL;DR: I live in the United States, specifically in Connecticut. My take is that the entire system is essentially designed to make sure people with disabilities don't get their license. Here's my "journey" to getting my license.

A little background. I'm 53 now, and the "journey" to get my license started when I was 17. As mentioned above, I live in Connecticut, and at the time the DMV had a special driver training program for people with disabilities. I enrolled in the program. The driving instructor, who I'll call "Instructor K," was a stereotypical, almost caricature-type driving instructor. He had extremely high blood pressure and was very nervous, which in turn made me extremely nervous.

Looking back, I think the nerves he created were intentional. He had a habit of telling stories about people he'd failed and denied licenses to. One story in particular stood out to me because it involved a friend of mine who also had CP. He told me he rejected her after her very first training run — she never even made it out of the driveway. She apparently hit the gas while the car was in park and did some damage to the training vehicle. For that one incident, he made sure she would never be able to get her license.

I didn't fully process it at the time, but looking back, she never had a chance. He had likely cranked her nerves up to an 11, and on top of that, she used crutches, so I have no idea why he had her attempting to drive with her feet instead of hand controls in the first place.

He also had a habit of putting me in extremely high-stress driving situations, for example making me drive in city traffic, which as a new driver made me extremely uncomfortable. He also made it clear with every lesson that he had the power to either give me my license or make sure I never got it, which drove my anxiety through the roof!

The environment he created made me extremely nervous, which affected my driving ability. After a few months of driving with him, he decided that I was "borderline" and that I should get a special evaluation at Gaylord Hospital in Connecticut. I took a test in their driving simulator, and after a whole 20 minutes of testing, they concluded that I was, at best, borderline to drive, and referred me back to Instructor K. I spent several more months driving with him, and he eventually concluded that I would not be able to drive.

After hearing that news, I was dejected and just down. As a "bonus," my father had his own concerns about me driving, so between Instructor K's and Gaylord's assessments, he was essentially set on me not driving.

Luckily for me, I was learning to drive with my feet, so I could practice in any vehicle with an automatic transmission. I finally said, "Screw this. I'm enrolling in my high school's driver's ed program."

So I did. From my very first drive in the "normal" training program, I realized that the "special" training programs were geared toward failing people rather than helping them succeed. It was night and day. Where Instructor K was discouraging and nervous, my school's instructor, a teacher probably earning a small stipend for the driving lessons, was calm. Where Instructor K would take me out in city traffic, this instructor took me on quiet suburban streets. I was in the car with the instructor and other students, and for the first time I was able to actually enjoy driving. My nervousness and anxiety went down, and with that, my ability to demonstrate that I could drive went up. The program through my high school was short, but it didn't matter. After just a couple of lessons, the new instructor told me I was ready to get my license.

So I went and scheduled the driving exam, and long story short, I passed. I remember the day vividly, even now. I drove home with my mom and pulled into the driveway. My father was up on a ladder working on the house. I got out of the car and yelled to my dad that I had passed. My father, who to be clear had been supportive throughout this process but was also steeling himself against what would have been a terrible emotional aftermath had I failed, looked at me and simply said, "What?" I was like, what the hell, Dad, don't look so surprised, I passed! I thought he was going to fall off the ladder... but he came down, shocked but with a big smile on his face, and said, "That's GREAT!!"

Big smiles all around... and that kicked off 20 years of driving. Have I been perfect? No. I've had a few fender-benders, some my fault, some not. I also have exactly one speeding ticket to my name. For those at the beginning of their driving journey, my point is this: hang in there, and understand that if you are participating in a "special" driving program, you are likely entering a program that is designed to fail more people than it passes. Where you can, participate in the "normal" programs, where the assumption is that you'll be able to drive.

A postscript to this story. I found out years later that Instructor K had failed another friend of mine, who I'll call "TK." TK needed hand controls due to having spina bifida. After Instructor K failed him, his father started taking him out driving. He used a stick to control the gas and brake with his hands. They eventually found another instructor who was more encouraging, and TK got his license. I mention this because TK is one of the best drivers I have ever seen. Don't get me wrong, he's a damn maniac behind the wheel. He tailgates, speeds, and drives like the highway is a NASCAR race track. That said, he can drive the wheels off a car and has never been in an accident. The fact that Instructor K failed him, one of the best drivers I have ever seen, able-bodied or otherwise, cemented in my mind that the system is truly designed to fail people.

For anyone who has made it to the end of this admittedly very long post, thanks for taking the time to read. I hope it helps someone out there. Believe it or not, this is not the end of my driving journey. In my 40s, I developed cervical spinal stenosis, which caused me to lose the ability to drive with my feet. I had to learn how to drive with hand controls, which brought a whole new set of challenges. Assuming people aren't like "No Mas!" I'll be posting a Part II soon.