Driver Door Ajar

It's the morning before the biggest test of my life.  In another county.  That I paid several hundred dollars for the privilege of taking.  That I put off taking for twelve years.  That I can't reschedule because it's just that close.

It's morning, according to the clock, but still dark outside.

I get into my car and turn the key.  It won't start.

Really?  I think.

I try it again.  No go.

I get into the other car and head to the gym.  This just can't be happening.  I try to imagine what is wrong.  For two weeks, I've been reading all about how to diagnose mental conditions, so I try to diagnose my car.   

I remember that the day before, it warned me that it was headed for a breakdown.  It was clearly suffering from a delusion when it said, "Driver door ajar."  I slammed that door three times--hard, and, in the face of clear and convincing evidence to the contrary, it stuck to its delusion: "Driver door ajar."  Other lights had come on, too.  The poor thing had been having hallucinations about brakes, air brakes, and the battery.

Well, maybe it was right about the battery.

I had come home and unloaded the way-too-full trunk, and all of that nonsense had seemed to go away.  I had turned it on again to reassess it, and all signs were normal.

What could have gone wrong in the meantime?

I try to think through different scenarios.  I can't take the other car to take my test, because my husband will need it to go to work.  My test won't end until after his shift starts.  I can't have him drop me off up there, because how would I get home?

I park at the gym and go in and work out--hard--to relieve my frustrations.  I burn 1000 calories and come out panting, but with no less anxiety.

I drive home, evaluating my situation seriously.  Maybe the stuff in the trunk pulled a wire, or made a short?  Maybe the battery is just old?  There is no going-to-the-gym episode between where I am and the rest of my day, now, and I have to have solutions.

I try.

In a desperate, mad moment, I contemplate walking home from the test site.  I plan to Google it when I get home.  It's probably less than twenty miles.  It could be tomorrow's exercise.

When I get home and relate this to my husband, he laughs and puts his arm around me.  I can't walk home, he tells me.  That's crazy.

I have a car hallucinating, having delusions, and making suicide threats, and he tells me I'm crazy?

"I don't have time to deal with this today," I say, on the verge of tears.  The few hours of the day have already been allocated very carefully to boning up on the other things I need to study before my exam.  And I need a good night's sleep.

He assures me he will take the time to make sure that the car gets dealt with so that I will have it tomorrow morning, when I need it.

He gives my car electroshock therapy, and we take it to the mechanic.  Both he and his receptionist visibly flinch when I tell them how much the exam cost me and how important it is to get my car back in good condition by night.  And you should see their faces when I tell them my diagnosis.

I go home and study, and wait.

Later in the day, we take a drive to the testing center.  I know myself well enough to know that I will sleep better and have less anxiety if it is not somewhere I have never been that I am expected to drive to in the dark and not be even one minute late for.  Despite one moment when it seems the instructions mixed up east and west, the route is not hard, and we find the place.

I insist, since we are there, that we park and go up to the suite number listed.  I want to have no surprises and the chance to ask questions.  We walk up to the testing office, only to find a sign on the door saying, "Do not open this door for any reason! The police will be called!"  Another sign says, "If you are here to take a test within thirty minutes of your exam and no staff member is here, call this number."

I write down the number.  I have a premonition that the sign may not be there tomorrow morning, and then what would I do?

When it comes to taking a test that the rest of my work life depends on and that I have already had too much anxiety to take for the past twelve years, I am the anxiety queen.

See, with this test, if I can't take it--or can't finish it--don't bring the right documents, am late, look suspicious, my shoe comes untied, eat or drink, or mess up in any possible way, I forfeit my fee and can't reschedule it for six months.  That's why it's such a big deal that nothing go wrong.

Every time I am tempted to start a list in my head of the things that could go wrong--
I could get sick
I could forget
A child could get hurt and need to be taken to the ER
My car could fail me
The Internet could go down
I could get lost on the way to the testing site
I could be missing some required document and get turned away
I could have a coughing fit
I could have insomnia all night
I could oversleep
There could be a death
--I slam it down in my mind as fast as I can.

We drive back and I study.

At the end of the day, we pick up my car with its brand new battery.  We put the kids to bed.  I review my notes.

I tell my husband that I feel I would give anything in the world not to be at this point right now.

I tell myself that I have handled it all pretty well--I am healthy, I have studied as hard as a person in my situation reasonably can, I have paced myself well, and I have met my study goals.  I can go to bed at a reasonable hour.  I have planned well.  It has all worked out.

And I go to bed.

I get through the night pretty well--only waking up four times compared to my usual two, and getting back to sleep after three of them.

I turn myself into a robot who cannot feel anxiety and go through the motions.  I complete all the plans I have made for getting ready.  I have the papers, ID, comfortable clothes ready.

I shower, dress, and eat.  I leave on time.

I take the test.

I pass the test.  I shed one tear in relief.

I drive home, starving and thirsty, hardly able to wait until I can tell my kids that they can have their mother back.

And now, I am going to sound just like my mom would have as I say that I am so blessed that my battery died when it did, instead of on the day of the test.