Over The Hill Health Matters

I was drivin’ down the road tryin’ to loosen my load, with a world of trouble on my mind… No, wait, that was the Eagles. When it comes to driving, I am now amongst the ranks of the chickens — big, fat chickens!

Actually, I was driving down the road in a cube van converted into a mobile kitchen, stocked to the roof with food, water and supplies, enough to feed a hungry film crew of 125 people. Sounds great, but there are 150 people on the crew.

It doesn’t matter. The more food the dispatchers put on, the more the 125 will eat. There will never be enough for everyone. Free food equals piggery!

With a solid week of 20-hour days behind me, I venture out for another production-sanctioned illegal-driving foray onto the Gardiner expressway in Toronto, heading west towards my eventual Brampton film set destination.

Despite being forced to drive beyond the legal time limit or lose my job, I am actually a firm believer in the laws of the land. At least as far as driving is concerned. I am therefore safely ensconced in the slow lane, where all good trucks belong.

Unfortunately, as is often the case, I am forced to nestle in behind two transport trucks driving side-by-side, probably to infinity and beyond.

My fellow craft service drivers usually tease me about my reticence to give up the slow lane and pass the vision-blocking highway behemoths. I decide that today is the day I will have a story to tell. I will venture forth into the fast-lane like the renegade I am not, and pass these transport trucks.

And away I go, out momentarily into the forbidden territory of lane one. I’m shaking, but I hold my course.

Okay, I have put enough pavement between my cube and the 56 footers. I am on my way back to the safety zone for we four-hour sleepers.

I check my passenger side mirror, any truck driver’s lifeline to the right hand lanes, however many that might be. Do I see the road behind me, with transport trucks barrelling down at God knows what amount of acceleration — I mean, driving at a steady, regulated speed? No, I do not. I see my own, not-at-all happy reflection facing me square on.

My mirror has not survived the mighty 115 kilometres an hour I had heroically broached in my attempted truck pass. It has folded in and is facing me, in all my Eduard Munsch glory. I check my teeth for debris in my reflection, flash myself my usual disarming smile, and scream.

I am driving blind, and at this juncture have not two, but four lanes to manoeuvre, as the turn-off lane is fast approaching and the highway has widened to accommodate more traffic. Lovely.

I hold my breath, put on my four-ways and floor it. Our trucks usually have governors, but thank God and the last speed-junkie driver, it has been disabled.

Each lane change seems like an eternity. An evil, stress-filled, no end in sight eternity. I make it onto the off-ramp only to have it suddenly widen into four lanes of its own as it becomes the highway heading north. I have to do it all again. By this time I am a pro.

Actually, by this time I am an anxiety-ridden nervous wreck, who has no time for the luxury of a panic attack, so I become the wild, fast-driving maniac that I need to be, until I get to the safety of the right-hand lane.

I phone the shop and tell the dispatcher about the folding mirror and the ensuing escapade. Will I make it to set on time is all they want to know. I assure them that we are still on schedule, but in the event that the mirror ever folds in again on the way to set, I will be taking the first left-hand exit off the highway that I come to. I believe that is Niagara Falls. I’ll be parked permanently at Casino Niagara. I’d rather take my chances on the roulette wheel than on the highway driving blind, thank you very much! I am not paid enough to take one for the gypper, like the long, sleep-deprived days on a film set had brainwashed me to believe that I should.

The source of my anxiety and panic in this situation is most apparent. Since I had arrived on set unscathed, the experience made a rather humorous story, nothing more — or so I thought. Instead this scenario marked what was to be a turning point in my level of comfort and confidence as a driver.

I started to get sporadic panic or anxiety attacks. I got them often when driving on large, multi-lane highways, which I thought was somewhat understandable. Then, I started to get them sometimes waiting for lights at major intersections, and then, sometimes going over bridges. Since driving is part of my job description, this development became a major hindrance to confidently heading to work each day. What was once a joy now became a potential dread.

I have forced myself to overcome my anxiety, except for the 12-lane highway scenario. I don’t know how to overcome a sudden attack in that circumstance and remain a safe driver.

I thought that perhaps the long hours on set had something to do with the stress manifesting in this manner. The film union has since forced the production companies to abide by the law, and we now drive within the legal driving time-limits, and that is a great blessing, but I am still afflicted with this panic and anxiety attack situation while behind the wheel and therefore don’t feel qualified to continue with the driving end of the profession at this time.

I believe that Panic Away has discovered a way or ways to help panic and anxiety attack sufferers such as myself deal with this quality-of-life-crippling condition. I am signing up for their seven-day free trial and highly recommend that anyone suffering from the same condition do the same. Everyone is different. Hopefully it works for all of us!

I will be posting my results here, at this blog site. Feel free to contact me with your own results. I would love the feedback!

Check out Panic Away’s product. Here’s the link, what do you think? Click here!

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