I Hit a Pedestrian? My Fear of Driving (Amaxophobia)
Nightmare in a parking garage
In 2003 someone claimed that I ran over her, broke her leg and damaged her internal organs.
It happened in a parking garage. She and two other people were chatting casually, crossing the entrance of the garage slowly. Then they stood in the middle, blocking cars, or rather my car. She seemed oblivious to my presence. I gave her a “courtesy honk,” one of those brief taps on the horn to let the other driver, or pedestrian in this case, know that you are waiting for them to proceed.
They looked at me and continued their conversation without moving. I was late for my doctor’s appointment, and I started to get annoyed, but I didn’t honk again. Instead, I waved my hands back and forth like you might do with someone who had zoned out. Nothing.
I rolled down my window and waved in a “move over” gesture and shouted, “Can you move?” The three of them looked at me again, and one of them said something I couldn’t understand. I could tell from her expression it wasn’t a compliment. They finally started walking again, but stood close to the garage entrance, far away enough, I thought, to provide a reasonable clearance to enter safely.
I drove in up to the gate, stopped and reached out to push the button to get my ticket. Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me screaming “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!” I looked in my side view mirror and saw that the screaming woman was lying on the pavement rocking back and forth. “Help! Help! Somebody help me!”
I got out of the car and ran to her. She jabbed a finger in my direction, face contorted, screaming “You hit me! Bitch!” The other two women looked on, laughing. Three concerned people suddenly appeared. One of them glared at me and said, “I’m calling the police.”
I didn’t know what to do. I apologized profusely but then realized apologies were inadequate and inappropriate for a situation like this, at a time like this. On the back of her neck was a tattoo, “R.I.P.” and somehow this made the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach worse.
The police officer arrived quickly and immediately bent down toward her, speaking to her as she lay on the sidewalk. He had a small spiral notebook and he jotted down notes. I saw her pull up a pant leg and point to her shin. The officer glanced back at me and said, “Stay there.” She was still making pained noises as an ambulance arrived and two EMTs tended to her and carried her away on a stretcher. Then the people around her dispersed.
After looking at my license and registration, the officer questioned me, taking notes. I told him I didn’t feel a bump at the spot she said I had run over her but said how sorry I was anyway. I was grateful when he said he wasn’t going to arrest me, although he would have if I had left the scene. He detained me for about thirty minutes after the ambulance left and spoke into the walkie talkie thing on his shoulder. I asked him what I should do, what the next step was, what should I expect? He said I should contact my insurance company and that he would call me at home that night to get more information. I thought this was strange but felt thankful. He hadn’t been a jerk when he could have.
I called my insurance company and told them the awful news. I was grateful that they weren’t accusatory or judgmental. My insurance premium was bound to go up. I chastised myself for only thinking of myself. What if I had killed her? My life would have been ruined. Damn, I did it again, thinking of myself when I should be giving my complete attention and empathy toward the victim and to think of her needs.
I couldn’t understand how I could have run over her, as I didn’t feel any bump as I drove in, not even a small one. Part of me wondered if she was making it up, but I was also scared that I had hurt her. I worried that there would be substantial financial consequences, that I would lose my life savings, thinking of myself yet again.
That night I received a phone call from the police officer, as he had promised, and I answered all his questions which were pretty much the same ones he had asked me in the garage. He told me to expect another call but didn’t say when.
An anxious week went by, and I didn’t hear anything from anyone, not my insurance company, not the police and not the hospital. I called my insurance company, and the representative said they were waiting for the hospital report to find out the extent of the injuries and that they would call me back when they received it.
Two weeks went by, and I heard nothing, so I called them again. The representative told me they had received the medical records and that I had, in fact, run over her and broken her leg. I was mortified. If I had accidentally hit someone and didn’t even realize it, what was there to prevent it from happening again? Was I going to lose my license? Maybe I should.
I received a letter from her attorney. She was suing me for physical damages which included not only a broken leg, but also trauma to internal organs. He mentioned which one(s), but I forget. I was in a daze. I was an awful person. An awful person whose salary would likely be garnished and was going to lose everything.
I expected a call or letter informing me of a court date and/or an amount for which I was being sued which wasn’t specified in her lawyer’s letter. I was pestering my insurance company on a weekly, sometimes biweekly basis. Months went by.
Eventually a representative told me something altogether different. She said the hospital reports showed that the “victim” had received a full battery of tests and that the hospital concluded that she had sustained no injury at all. I was so relieved, I wept.
I also felt disgusted and angry. My insurance company told me they were going to pay her the thousands of dollars she was asking for, despite proof that her claims were false. She wasn’t a victim; she was a perpetrator who had held me and my insurance company hostage. I remembered how the other two women were laughing. It must have been funny. I imagined all three taking turns at committing this fraud. I imagined them sitting around a table, spreading out their cash, comparing their winnings. I asked why the insurance company had initially said that I had broken her leg when I hadn’t. The representative didn’t have a good answer, or really any answer at all, and just repeated that there were no injuries.
One might think finding out that I hadn’t injured anyone would restore my confidence in my driving abilities. But from then on, my already significant fears about driving became more intense. There was nothing I could do to prevent this from happening again. That garage was the only place to park if I wanted to continue seeing my primary care physician.
So, I ditched my PCP and found another, one with a parking lot instead of a garage. Problem solved?
