Going through security has always been my least favorite part of flying, but probably not for the same reasons as most of the people around me. It has been the confusion, the lack of control, that has set my nerves to high alert, put my generally go-with-the-flow nature to near attitudinal meltdown.

Now the process is fraught with new anxiety-provoking material for everyone, and thus the potential for making me even more miserable is soaring.

But that isn't what has happened.

Personal independence, for people with or without disabilities, isn't so much a matter of doing everything yourself, but rather of being in control of what you do. That independence can be lost in the potentially frenetic atmosphere of airport security.

It's simple, right? You put your stuff on the conveyor belt, walk through the X-raying portal, hope you don't set off any alarms, collect your stuff, and go. Not so easy for someone with a visual disability.

Where is the conveyor belt? Where are the baskets? Where is the magic portal?

As a traveler who uses a guide dog, I have my dog sit at one side of the portal, walk through ahead of her, and then call her to me. Thus, when her collar and harness hardware trigger the alarm, it is clear that the dog, not the human, carries the offending metal.

Worst case scenario: I approach security, move toward the sound of the beeping someone else has triggered. With confusion and miscommunication, I finally manage (if I'm lucky) to put my laptop, personal data assistant, and other mysterious pieces of technology in baskets and set them moving.

Or maybe I hold up the line, hearing sighs behind me, because I can't figure out where the station with the baskets is located. Maybe someone wordlessly grabs me - or my dog - or both of us, and I have to take a deep breath, ask them not so handle us like packages and wait for us to be inspected via X-ray like everyone else.

Then there is the mass confusion of collecting, reassembling my personal belongings - confusing because I can't be sure if they are reclaimed to my right, my left or some other direction.

In the last few months, that seems to have changed.

"You'll need to come to your right, sit in this chair, and remove your shoes," one worker tells me. Or, "You'll need to move about 10 feet to your left so we can look through your backpack," says another.

Or, the show stopper a few weeks ago: "We'll need to pat down your dog," which resulted in my golden retriever waving her paws in the air to the amused delight of the gathering of laughing, dog-loving spectators.

Communication is a cost-free accommodation that can make all the difference in the comfort level of a passenger with a visual disability.

I am thankful for the airport personnel who remember to communicate clearly, assume that each passenger with or without a disability is ultimately, personally responsible for herself.

Contact Deborah Kendrick by phone: 673-4474; fax: 321-6430; e-mail: dkkendrick@earthlink.net.