I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND
I had surgery last week. I hadn’t been under general anesthesia since having my wisdom teeth out in my early 20’s. I remember that experience as being pretty disorienting- a tangle of wires and sensors, an IV going in and a breathing mask going on. I felt disoriented and alone as I slipped under the waves of my own babbling.
This time was different. My seasoned surgeon and his nurse welcomed me onto the operating table like I was a guest of honor at an exclusive party, Hawaiian music playing in the background. I’m sure all of the usual activities were happening as they prepped me for surgery- heart monitor, IV, oxygen. What was different this time was the anchor they gave me. My surgeon took my right hand and held it firmly through the whole process. His nurse was stationed on my left and rested her hand gently on my left shoulder. The process of going under general anesthesia is naturally pretty lonely and disorienting. You’re in a room of strangers. The process is unknown and scary and the outcomes are always somewhat uncertain. This time though, I had the warm touch of two caring people anchoring me to that room. I didn’t feel afraid or alone. I felt confident in where I was and what I was doing. I lost consciousness with the firm weight of their hands holding onto me.
The surgery went well. I was home later that day, lording over my bedroom with my family at my beck and call. The small perks of surgery- mom gets to rest. All week though, my daughter was in a tizzy. “I can’t hug mommy,” she tells everyone when they ask her how I’m doing. She’s naturally very affectionate, but her hugs frequently look more like a sneak-attack heimlich maneuver than a regular variety hug. So she’s been given strict instructions. I couldn’t understand at first why the “no hug” policy was bothering her so much. I tried to pacify her with holding my hand and putting our foreheads together. As the week went on, I began to realize just how important physical touch was to her sense of security. I’m her main person, and if I couldn’t hug her, she didn’t feel safe and grounded. Realizing this, I made extra efforts to cuddle, letting her sit halfway on my lap. She’s a big seven year old, and won’t fit there much longer! We talked about how quickly I was recovering, and that I could start helping her with things again. She seemed to feel better, but I was left with the sense that the hugs mattered a lot more to her than the conversation.
Reflecting on the chat with my daughter, I thought about my grandmother. Eighty-eight years old and living in an assisted living facility, she braved almost an entire year without any hugs. Through most of COVID, I was allowed one weekly visit with her in a tent with plexiglass running down the middle of it. I kept more than six feet away from her, aware that if I somehow gave her COVID, it would likely kill her. The isolation and lack of human connection must have been almost unbearable. She weathered it far better than I think I would have, but there were peaks and valleys to her mood and outlook. Some days, she was so down that she didn’t even want to talk on the phone. After her first vaccination in February, they allowed me to visit her in her room as an “essential visitor.” I still wore a mask and tried to keep my distance, but at some point she looked at me and said she was ready for a hug. As I embraced her, I wondered what it would be like if this was my first hug in a year. It’s hard to even imagine what that must have been like. I looked into her eyes and told her that the worst was behind her. We both cried hopeful tears that this would be the last time she would ever have to go without physical touch again.
COVID has taught me many things. I now know how flexible and resilient and creative my family can be. Yes, I can run a business sitting next to a bunk bed. I have a new definition of how to have fun. An eight mile hike can be just as fun as a night out. I also have a new appreciation for the basic human need of connection. Like so many things, I had to have most of it taken away from me in order to fully appreciate it. I had to quarantine in order to understand how much I get from basic, daily interactions with others- the checker I chat with in the grocery store, the woman I do yoga next to at my local studio, the hum of the crowd at the bar when I’m out with my husband. These small, mundane connections feed my soul and bring me energy. They ground me and reassure me in our common experience.
If I underestimated the importance of connection, I grossly underestimated the importance of physical touch as part of that connection. Think of how many times a day we casually touched each other, before Covid. A handshake for a stranger, a pat on the back or high five for a co-worker, a hug or a kiss hello for a loved one. Physical touch is the most direct way to connect with another person. That simple physical connection says so many things. I see you. I care about you. We share a common experience. It’s a hand, reaching out and anchoring us when we are doing something that feels scary and uncertain. It’s a hug, reassuring us when we’re feeling insecure. It’s a warm embrace, reminding us that we are loved when we feel alone.
So how do we meet these needs for connection, when there are still so many constraints? Here are some of the things I’ve tried:
Touch people when you can. Sounds a little creepy, right?! I’m talking about consensual touch, with those that are safe to be close to. This is not the time to hold back with those that are in your COVID bubble! Hug them, hold their hand, give them that physical reassurance.
Connect in other non-verbal ways. I try to make stronger eye contact than I used to. Covered up in masks, we don’t have our full range of facial expressions available to convey connection. I try to hold my gaze for a few seconds before talking to others, so that they know I’m paying attention and care about what they have to say.
Use your words. I tell my kids this all the time, usually when they’re yelling or getting into a physical tussle! We can get a lot more intentional with our words in order to connect with others. Sometimes this can leave us vulnerable, but that is an important part of connection. I find myself telling people how much I miss them, and what I appreciate about them.
Are you missing connection with others? A coach can help with that. Reach out to schedule a complimentary session.
