Tomorrow is the day that the heavens open up and the angels belt out a Hallelujah chorus with us. Dom gets to drive again! I am overjoyed – as is he – but I have to admit, I’m a little sad to see this era end.

In February Dom suffered a seizure as a side effect of a medication. Suffice it to say that neither of us takes anything stronger than Ibuprofen now. During that seizure, Dom basically checked out for twenty minutes. He doesn’t recall any of it. In stark contrast, I recall each and every morbid second of it with amazing clarity, though I honestly try not to think too long on it, as my eyes inadvertently well with tears at the memory of the complete helplessness I felt that night.

Setting aside the brink of tragedy on which we momentarily stood, the most frustrating result of the seizure – when it was all said and done – is that Louisiana law prohibits anyone who has had a seizure from driving for six months following the episode. SIX MONTHS! So said the doctors in the ER. And the doctors that we visited in the weeks following the seizure. And they wanted to put him on more medication in order to study the effects before they would even consider clearing him to drive.

Screw that.

After the last doctor’s appointment where the doctor said the driving restriction was out of her hands, Dom and I sat down on the back patio, furious at the situation and quite certain no law authority knew he had even had a seizure. But what if? You might know from my other blog that we had already gone renegade in our approach to modern medicine, snubbing our noses at prescriptions and conventional nutritional wisdom. But going renegade where state law is concerned? Not our style.

And so we reasoned the potential blessings and benefits of me chauffeuring him around for six months. And now that we are on the other end of the sentence, I can see some of those blessings. But it wasn’t without its struggles. It occurred to me this morning as we barked at each other over school-zone traffic patterns and my overly-cautionary driving habits that I wish I had thought to construct a floor-to-ceiling partition between the driver’s and passenger’s seats of my van. But that, too, would likely be illegal, so it’s for the best that I didn’t think of it until it was too late.

At any rate, our forced carpooling has brought us closer, just as it has sparked many an argument. So as we parked the van in the garage tonight and Dom gathered his sunglasses and parking garage key-card to put back in his truck for tomorrow morning’s solo journey to the office, I have to admit that I was a little sad at the prospect of no longer being responsible for his transportation. It will indeed feel odd to have the passenger seat once again empty more often than not.

We have tossed around the idea of an intermittent carpooling together, in the interest of saving gas. If we follow through with it, you’ll see me in the passenger seat of his truck, kicked back and wagging my finger to direct his driving. Paybacks are hell.

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