The light was changing from amber to red when I turned left onto Main Street. My stepdaughter and I were on our way to a workout on a rainy Saturday morning. From the passenger seat of my trusty Subaru, she screamed — at what, I did not know. Although we made it through the intersection without hitting an oncoming car that I did not see, our hearts were racing before we hit the gym. On the way home, I wondered about the car’s fitness, but the sudden mechanical failure turned out to be mine. A few days later, my eye doctor stopped examining me, picked up his desk phone and speed-dialled the head of ophthalmology at the university. “There’s someone you must see right away,” he said. On Dec. 1, 2011, I received a diagnosis of Stargardt disease, an inherited retinal disorder that affects central vision. Genetic testing showed that my mother carried the mutation, and my father contributed a common variant. One in 10 000 are afflicted with this rare condition, which often presents in childhood. I was lucky to have reached the age of 50 before I had to give up my keys. But I was in shock. Since the first day behind the wheel of my father’s Ford truck when I was 14, I knew that driving would be my portal to other worlds. He wanted me to gain skills early and comprehensively. What better way than in the old ’48, with its manual transmission and well-worn body? ^z>Carol Yaple
NSTL
Cma-Canadian Medical Assoc
