I never knew how much I loved my sense of smell until I lost it. I’ve always thought I had a rather terrible nose — either overly sensitive (ack, perfume!) or can’t pick out a violet from a gardenia. Turns out, it was working just fine until I got COVID.
I didn’t fully understand what it meant to lose your sense of smell. I didn’t occur to me that, while of course I can still inhale just (mostly) fine, in the place of aromas and/or odors, there is just absence. Complete and total absence. I can’t smell a thing. Not homemade pho, not a burning candle, not the eucalyptus extract that I bought in Morocco to clear my sinuses (think essence of Vick’s Vapo-rub), not even a whiff of gasoline.
For someone whose life pretty much revolves around cooking and eating and drinking and, oh, just plain perceiving things, it is this loss that has hit me the hardest as I’ve quarantined at home over the last few weeks. I didn’t realize, or fully appreciate is a better turn of phrase, just how much joy smelling things brought to me. This absence of perception is unnerving, as is the sour tinge that most things leave on my palate. Tasting I miss, smelling I pine for.
And you know how I’d normally pull myself out of a funk? I’d laboriously devote hours to a meal and ponder just the right bottle of wine to pair with it, ultimately enjoying the way the flavors and aromas melded together, how the wine evolved in the glass.
Turns out, for someone who lives to eat, life is pretty monotonous without a sense of smell. (I’m sure not being able to go on a walk isn’t helping much either). Here’s to hoping is doesn’t take too long for all the smells to come back.
*NB: I’m aware of how lucky I am that my symptoms appear to be mostly mild. Take care of yourselves.