by Susan Elizabeth Wiggins

Created on: June 18, 2009   Last Updated: August 10, 2009

For several years, I had been suffering from pain in my shoulder and neck. After different forms of medical and chiropractic treatment my physician referred me to a specialist. To get to his office required a one and one half hour drive from my home. In a country where most homes have two if not three automobiles in the yard, an hour and a half trip doesn't pose much of a problem. In my condition, however, I required a driver.

I am divorced so I don't have the luxury of a resident chauffeur otherwise known as a husband, of course, I don't have the daily aggravations which are also known as a husband but that's another story. What I'm leading up to is how my ninety year old father ended up driving me to my appointment in one of the busiest cities in the state.

My father is extremely healthy and active for his age so I wasn't in grea t fear of being his passenger...really.
As we drove down Interstate 40 at the legal limit of 70 mph, cars were still passing us, cars behind us seemed to try to push us off the road. Trying to ignore the lead footed speeders around us, Daddy nodded at the clock on the dash and commented on how we would make it in plenty of time for my appointment. That is when I heard it. It was sort of a bumpy sound coming from one side of the car, accompanied by a bumpy sensation.

The relentless traffic made it difficult to pull over to safety. It was at that point I realized, there was little or no safety. We were in the middle of I-40 and the only place to pull over was on the median between the interstate and an on ramp.

A quick look revealed the tire was shredded beyond help from Fix-A-Flat.
My Dad opened the trunk and retrieved the jack and the spare tire, as I tried to persuade him to stop and let me call for help. I soon realized I could call for all the help that was available but if I didn't do it soon, my dad would either change the tire alone or hurt himself trying. I called 911 and explained the situation. I was told, someone would be there soon.

I began to feel panic overcome me as I watched my dad's ninety year old hands struggle to loosen the lug nuts. I was flooded with deluge of thoughts, "Daddy has an aortic abdominal aneurysm, if it ruptures, he will die immediately, where is the help I called for? My babysitter was killed while changing a flat tire on I-95." With that last thought, I moved between my dad and the racing, oncoming traffic hoping the drivers would see me, and not run over him.

Each passing driver showed no compassion,

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