It occurred to me the other day, after having two surgeries, one on each eye—-that the doctor had a lot learn about making us patients feel secure.  His credentials were of the highest regard, so that wasn’t the issue.   

Once again, this experience showed up as an opportunity to find renewed awarenes and appreciation for the often overlooked security producing aspects of my own life—which, just by the nature of their every-day-ness,  are so easy to overlook. 

So, how about if I share just a few of the motivating burrs in my saddle to give you some context….some of the things which added to the pre-surgery tension (…and, oh yes, that general, I only-have-one-set-of-eyes-terror thing). 

 Doctor’s orders required patients to arrive with an empty stomach and to put several rounds of drops in our eyes prior to arrival.  Also, any reading glasses were to be left at home.  We were finally escorted to the payment desk, where I was supposed to sign one “consent” document after another, along with checking lots of  little boxes on a form, to give final instructions to the anesthetist. The eye drops worked.  Everything was a big blur.  I might as well have put my “X” on a piece of paper and let them scan it into the right spots. My “good girl” limits were being supremely tested.  If my husband had not been there to help, I might have started screaming and become one of those patients that gets wrestled to the floor—just to keep the others from having any big ideas about becoming irritated or scared-acting, themselves.

During the time we were waiting, the black monolithic centerpiece of the lobby—-a 72″ TV, blared “Good Morning America”—-AND, the local classical radio station was playing Vivaldi at the same volume, all, at the same time.  Ah, something for everyone. Noise intersected noise and overlapped with the nervous coughing and rampant phlegm ball removal which seemed to have gripped the other terrified members of the surgery day line-up.

In the pre-op area, we were welcomed by one of the nurses who was in a heated argument on the phone with her boyfriend.  Her next call was to the vet, discussing each and every claw  on each and every paw, for Arnold, her beloved Jack Russell,  and his upcoming  nail clipping appointment.  “He just gets traumatized, you know,” she wailed to vet.  She did not hear any of us asking for a blanket, as we shivered and teeth rattled,  in the frosty corner where we sat, privvy to and punished by, the innermost events in her life.  But the next call, really got her going, so much so, that she decided to put it on speaker, because when she is “good and mad” she just needs her hands to talk.  The alterations lady to whom she was speaking was obviously not gving her good news regarding the “most urgent”  need of her daughter’s prom dress.  You know the one—with the ”huge pink bow on the butt that just still would not lie down right”  Her daughter had “cried a river” only the night before.  But the alterations lady, now just as angry,  shouted right back.  ”Well, Ma’am, that big fat bow IS on her big fat butt—how do you expect it to LIE DOWN?”.  My sentiments exactly.  Score:  Alterations Lady—1, Nurse Yell-So-Much—-0.  But, thank you for sharing. 

Praise be, the anesthetist knew just what to do to put me out of my misery. And, thankfully again, I am now progressing nicely despite two black eyes.  My eyesight is still weird and wiggly. I am seeing things in “pink” halos (could it be the same shade as the heinous, protruding bow?) but every once in a while, I am amazed at the clarity that comes through.  The doctor, promises this will be the case all the time, once the new lens have time to adjust.

Now, finally—to the point of this post……..so, if you are still with me….bless you for hanging in there.  I hope to make it worth it for you.

Back in the sack and home from the surgery, after feeling so intensely uncomfortable, I started thinking about the things that make me feel safe.  The sounds that always provoke deep comfort and gratitude—-the times when the world seems only reasonable and kind and in order.  One of those times is when I am in bed, under a mountain of covers, hearing the lonesome horn of a train, off in the distance.  That tells me the world is doing its thing, just fine, without me.  “They” are all out “there” and I am in “here” safe and sound in a cocoon of my own creation.

Another sound of security is hearing the washer and dryer in the laundry room.  I love the sound of a random, clacking button being rthymically tapping the wall of the dryer.  The warm air, smelling so pure and clean, coming out of the  vent sends me even deeper into the safety zone.  When I did not have a laundry room at home, I used to take a book with my bag of quarters to the laudromat and spend the afternoon, watching people in the simplest acts of living and taking care.

When I really stop to think about it—-The whole process of doing laundry reminds me that everything is capable of being transformed—from a dirty, rumpled tangle—-to being mindful of each piece which needs sorting —what can and what can’t be washed together—taking gentle care—honoring the ways things need to work in order for things to become—-clean and fresh and pressed and smooth, folded just so.  It’s all up to me—-just like life.  One step at a time.

It also occurred to me that doing the laundry has always been a great stress reliever, particularly when I feel frustrated or stuck about something.  With laundry, I know what the result will be.  I know, in this instance, I have total power over ironing out the wrinkles in my life.  I have just done something tangible to clean up my life and to create comfort.  Who knew laundry could be healing and transformative?

Since then, my husband and I have asked friends what sounds like security for them.  Some like the sound of their mate, puttering around outside or in the kitchen, clanking the dishes, humming or whistling.  Some like the sound of a snapping, crackling fire in the fireplace.  Others have mentioned the sound of wind, as it rushes through the trees in a dense forest—-or the steady roar of the ocean—-or just a small, oscillating fan, moving back and forth, blowing fresh air into a soothing night’s sleep.

So……what’s true for you?  What sounds do you hold near and dear?  What things produce a sense of daily security for you?  In times when we might feel small or scared or frustrated or when the world seems like it is wobbling too much, what places can you go, what things can you do, what sounds can you tune into that will provide you with peace and comfort?