Carol M Creasey

                                      My Cure  for Travel Sickness

When I was aged about eight,  back in the 1950s my father bought a Zephyr Zodiac car. I remember it was two tone, red and black. It was his pride and joy, and he couldn’t wait to take his family out in it. All my friends at school told me how lucky I as, because not everyone could afford a car in those days.

I sat in the back, next to my brother, enjoying the glances from other people as it glided along the road. My mother sat next to him, with her best dress on, and we really felt the bees knees. We were going on our summer holiday, we had all the suitcases in the boot, and the journey was estimated to take about two and a half hours, as we did not have the benefit of motorways then.

My elation was short lived, because within about fifteen minutes into our journey, I felt the waves of nausea sweep over me. I tried so hard to control it, knowing that Dad would not be impressed if I puked over his lovely new upholstery, but it didn’t work. We had to stop for about 3 times during the journey, so I could get outside, and vomit, and by the time we got there, I felt absolutely wretched, and so did my family, as watching me  at the side of the road was not a pretty sight.

After that Dad tried various” remedies”, including hanging a metal chain underneath the car, and my mother went to the chemist, and was given some tablets called QUELLS, which were supposed to stop it, but as soon as I put them in my mouth, the chalky taste made me gag, and they didn’t cure the problem either.

The only time I went in the car after that was once a year for our holiday, I was OK on trains and buses, it just seemed to be the car. You have no idea just how much it restricts your life when you are scared to travel by car, and of course, the inevitable  happened, when I was seventeen, I met a boy, who had a car.

I didn’t have the guts to tell him about my problem, and most of our journeys in the beginning were only local ones, ten to fifteen minutes at the most,  and to my relief I was OK.  But one weekend he wanted to take me some fifty miles to visit a friend, and I really liked this boy, and didn’t want to lose him. So I ignored the trepidation inside me, and went, and of course, the difference was I was sitting in the front, and from then onwards I have been fine.

 I learned to drive, and passed my test at twenty four, with two young children to ferry around, it was a much better option than the bus, and  I have never looked back. My car is my passport to independence, and I could not manage without it. Whether I was cured because I moved into the front, or because I was an adult , and it seems to be a problem in childhood, I will never know, but  thank goodness I am, I wouldn’t wish that feeling of nausea on anyone.

This is my own picture.