Five and a half months ago, I passed out on an airplane, spent three days in a NYC hospital, drove 20 hours home (as prescribed by a doctor), and a week later my "episode" was labeled a seizure, and I was a newly diagnosed epileptic. With that came the added crux of no driving until I was seizure-free for six months. As a climbing partner/photographer, my flexibility was key to climbing as much as possible and being able to shoot whenever I knew people might be out, without planning too far in advance, because admit it, climbers can be pretty flaky (despite being some of the best people I've encountered).
Fast-forward through many, many trips as a passenger, many missed trips, no seizures, and much patience on my wife's end of driving me around (and listening to me critique her driving). We're about to move to Scotland for a year and a half for her to attend graduate school at the University of Edinburgh. I've been looking forward to our time in Edinburgh, but also anticipating our time exploring all the various countries with beautiful climbing destinations. Before departing though, we needed to renew our driver's licenses since we'll be in the UK when they expire.
Long story short, we arrived at the DMV yesterday to renew our licenses, and because I was diagnosed as an epileptic, after one 10-second episode, and it hasn't been two years yet, I can't get a driver's license. To many, this wouldn't be a big deal. But to me, driving is my independence, my flexibility, my ability to not be a burden. To say I've been counting the days (10) until I could drive again would be an extreme understatement. I've felt a consistent guilt looking for rides to get out and climb. Not to mention I've been looking forward to potentially meeting up with friends in the UK and Europe and driving around with them. Now it all appears so complicated and makes me worry about my ability to "get out" with folks in a country that I'll know a grand total of one person. We won't have a car there, but I'm sure you know how people worry irrationally.
But then again, when I was diagnosed, the doctors said I could still climb (he literally said, "if that's your passion, I can't take that away from you"). My friends rallied around me on social media, and when we arrived home. Countless people have offered (and provided) me rides. My wife has supported me, driving us to and from Colorado this summer, just so I could climb and shoot (and scout out areas to live if we move there), and that's just one example of her support, love, and patience.
So I may not have the ability to drive myself to and fro for quite some time, but I know that I have a community of support, a family that would go to the ends of the earth for me, and a sport and passion that I can still pursue, despite me feeling a little helpless in the face of losing that aspect of independence until we return to the US. And with that in mind, I suppose I don't have too much to complain about.