Several years ago while driving home from teaching a high school class, I was suddenly aware that I was steering my car across eight lanes of oncoming traffic! I was following the white line - not the one between lanes, but the one that had been put there to temporarily redirect traffic to toll booths which were no longer there. That was enough to scare me. I voluntarily stop driving the next day.

For many people, like me, who wake up each morning and arm wrestle with Dr. Alzheimer's until they fall asleep that evening, giving up driving is the most difficult decision for them and their caregivers to make ... and accept. What I did not realize was that I was also giving up my personal freedom - to come and go as I pleased, the subliminal giant root supporting my resistance to give up driving.

People my age are supposed to be in love with their cars. The auto industry conditioned us in the early 50s, and each year these passions are reinforced by ads for Viagra, etc. Honest, I did not love my car and I was unaware of any psycho - social - sexual underlying motivates when I slid behind the wheel of my eight-year-old minivan.

The struggle over what to do about Dad or Mom's driving usually begins when there has been an accident or a near-miss, or even worse, several accidents and near-misses. (I know of one caregiver who simply refused to ride as a passenger when she witnessed several near-misses.) If you find yourself in such a position: plead; construct horrific "what if you run into a school bus filled with nuns, babies, and your grand-children" scenarios; and/or threaten the intervention of physicians, state and local police officers, and sometimes even God herself, if your loved one will not surrender their car keys. And do it now.

Usually, the first attempt ends in failure. Everyone leaves the room more upset than when they entered it. Some of us, people living with one of the diseases of dementia (especially Alzheimer's), are honestly unaware of a problem, and are totally perplexed by the suggestion that our driving is less than excellent. Understandably, we become quite defensive when the entire family attacks us by trying to take our car keys. This is probably not the first time these family meetings have turned on them. [And what about the family struggle to get us to say aloud "I have Alzheimer's disease" or the time they wanted me to change my clothes because they didn't like the way I was dressed?]

For others, this meeting is the culmination of on-going verbal attacks about our driving. [Every time I make the slightest little driving miscue, everyone in the family points it out to me - and here comes that bus load of nuns, babies and my grandchildren." "What about all their previous accidents? They are all still driving, and no one seems to care one way or the other.]

Some of us have discovered it is in our best interests to pretend we don't know what they are talking about, or create some explanation as to how it happened and hope all will also accept it as a valid excuse.

All these defenses are constructed because we see ourselves "under attack". Attacked by our own family members! I'm not really sure why I am so opposed to doing what they want me to do, but I do know I am strongly against it. [Why do people keep accusing me of acting as if I am paranoid? I'll tell you. I am defensive, not paranoid, because you keep attacking me!]

For many of us, we sometimes, or always, lack the concentration to generate insights into ourselves, our behaviors, and the consequences of our behaviors. [Do we have to admit this to a whole room full of people? Do we have to figure this out for ourselves? We are the ones with the altered thought processes. Why don't you figure this out for yourself and adjust the ways you act towards me? Instead, you again want me to act and think as I did, like you, like you want me to. When will you ever get over it. I have Alzheimer's disease!]

[If I could think like you now, I could generate insights like this. But I can't! Please get it! I am in a Twilight Zone where I jump back and forth between my past and my future. I am not aware of where I am at any given moment. And when people point out to me (after the fact) where I was, I still can't figure it out.]

[Understand that I just can't, for the life of me, grasp why you are so worked up about this. I've been driving since "I LIKE IKE" and no one ever mentioned anything about my driving.]

I'm sure many of these conversations have been repeated by many of the readers of this piece. [I heard them, I read them, I know them.] The solution does not lie in winning the argument(s). The Beatles were right, "There is nothing to be said that hasn't been said before" (or something like that). In fact, for families who have waited until "we cross that bridge" - the "you must stop driving now" bridge - there is no answer.

There is however, a better way. "Ganging up" may work for the family - they can support and reinforce each other [but it sure doesn't work for me, nor I suspect for others living with this disease].

Whenever possible, begin early in the disease process, pre-prepare the person [me] for what might be to come. All need to agree that if and when that time comes, it will be a consensus of opinion (what/who/when/where/how) and all have determined that it is time for me to stop driving.

You-all need to keep reminding me, lest I forget. You-all need to keep reminding me of the arrangements that have made to diminish the effect upon my freedom to go when and where I want. Contact members of the church, neighbors, friends, volunteers who could drive for me, helping to dissolve my fears of being stuck at home. They will need to learn how to drive for me, and not drive me. Offer to try out this plan - one day a week for three weeks - to see if it works. Do it now, while I don't see it as a threat. Go along with me to places we usually go together. Let me go by myself to places I usually go to alone. [We can deal with the secret police issues later on when I need them.] Build my confidence that there will be little change in my lifestyle when I park the old mini-van for the last time. And please do it one-on-one. Don't jump me with the gang of seven. Don't leave it all to Mom or Dad to drop the hammer.

So far, I have suggested this to eleven families. It has avoided the struggle in eight of them. Those are certainly better success rates than the current methods!

Now what of those who are too far into the disease process whereby this approach can't be used - sitting in the dining room, surrounded by uncomfortable family members? Everyone out of the room! We first need to try this one-on-one, and it needs to take place over a couple of weeks. Get your story straight with each other. Get the support network together while the conversations take place. Offer to try it out to see if it works.

Use the "there is strength in numbers" approach only as a last resort, not as a first, preferred course of action. Don't threaten in hopes of scaring me, unable to follow through. Don't just be firm and not offer some solution for which you will take responsibility. This isn't all about me [at least in my mind it isn't]. It's about what you want, not what I want.

Act now. It would be best not to wait until the car is in the shop being repaired from the accident. If you need proof to justify imposing these constraints, we are both in trouble.

Perhaps this is not "the best" way to engage this issue, but from my perspective it sure beats the alternatives. Waiting to cross this bridge when you come to it is definitely not the right road to start out on. Early on, early stage, everyone creating a family road map seems to be a better answer.

Richard Taylor