I’m starting to understand that living with reduced mobility means that you have to be a problem-solver, every day and sometimes minute to minute. I’m also realizing that I have been letting my circumstances dictate too much of my daily routine, and I have to start pushing through the obstacles to live a more normal life.

This week’s problem to solve was one that I have allowed to develop through neglect: My car died. I realized, after it wouldn’t start on Tuesday, that it’s probably been six weeks since I’ve driven it, so it’s no wonder the poor thing expired.

I thought it was probably just the battery, but when I hit the start switch, all kinds of symbols lit up on the dash-board, including the “check engine” light and the “engine is overheated” scale, and arrows were flying back and forth like mad. It made me afraid that I had fried the engine, because I then realized I probably haven’t changed the oil in two years. On the one hand, why would I, given that I’ve probably driven the car about 40 days out of those 730; but it can’t be good for the car to sit in the driveway with its fluids congealing within, and it was a really hot summer.

I therefore changed my plan. I decided that rather than just getting a jump and driving it to the dealership, I should probably get it towed there. But the dealership is about 14 miles away, and my auto club membership only allows for a tow of up to seven miles. Also, the dealership operates on a first-come-first-served basis, so I was likely to be there all day long, in a lounge without chairs that would accommodate me, so I’d probably spend it sitting on the drop-down seat of my walker, which is fine for a 10-minute wait but not for five hours.

The car is way out of warranty despite its low mileage (it only has about 18K miles on it, and I drove it full-time to work for two years, so you can extrapolate how few miles I have put on it since 2019 when I retired), so I don’t need to go to the dealership. I decided instead to go online and find a mechanic close by who works on Jeeps, and I discovered one that’s only three miles away from me, with stellar ratings on Yelp. So I made an online appointment (it being 3:00 a.m.) and tried to figure out what to do. If I could drive the car there, then I would be stuck waiting for service; but if I had the car towed, I wouldn’t be able to go along, because I can’t climb up into the cab of a tow truck.

I got up this morning and called the shop, and the guy who answered reassured me that I could send the car without coming myself and we could communicate about what’s needed over the phone. So I called the auto club and got a kind and professional tow truck guy named Ricky, who listened to all my theories, carefully checked all the fluids (oil present and not too dirty, coolant likewise on board) and then jump-started the battery, drove the car onto the back of his truck, and ferried it over to the mechanic. I called the mechanic to report all of this (I’m trusting, but not gullible—I didn’t want the diagnosis to come back large when it seems like it may be small after all), and now I’m waiting to hear from them.

I have realized, from this experience, that I have allowed my life to become too small, and have begun to give myself excuses not to go out. While it’s true that I have severe pain in my knees and that my lymphedema is still rampaging, it is perfectly possible for me to push through that for a few minutes to go outside, get into the car, and turn it on once a week so that this doesn’t happen again. And I can go to the drive-through ATM for cash to pay my yard helper and then drive through a fast food place to get dinner if I need to, just to run the car around enough to charge it up again.

All of this also made me determined not to cancel my watercolor workshop this Saturday, despite the pain in my knees and feet and back, because I need that interaction with people, I need the fresh air, the drive on the freeway, the opportunity to do something positive (and also be paid for it!) that has been largely taken away from me because of my limitations. I saw this meme on my former mentor Carol’s Facebook page once and saved it, and it spoke to me this week and essentially said “It’s time to get up off your ass and TRY.” So that’s what I’m going to do.

I haven’t figured out yet how to get my car back, but if someone from the mechanic’s will drive it to me, I can get myself into the driver’s seat to take them back, and then hit Del Taco and that ATM on the way home.