Sense of Smell

I lost my sense of smell a number of years ago and didn’t realize it for the longest time.

My sense of taste still works, so apparently those two senses aren’t as intertwined as people assume. I’m often asked, “But can you still taste food?” Yes. Thankfully. I’m writing about this because I’m surprised I don’t really miss smelling things—or perhaps it’s been gone so long I’ve forgotten the joy of catching a whiff of something wonderful. Come to think of it, maybe my sense of smell was more connected to my memory bank than my taste buds.

It’s second nature to lean into a rose, expecting a fragrance. We’ve been trained since childhood to sniff honeysuckle or follow the scent of fresh-baked bread as it’s pulled from the oven.

Of course, there are some odors I don’t miss. I can stroll past a garbage can without a flinch, and if someone’s bathroom is long overdue for a scrub, I won’t be the one to wrinkle my nose—or notice at all. I do, however, ask visitors from time to time whether my dogs have over-lounged and the house needs a good airing. I depend on their honesty, though it may cost them a lungful of aggressively floral room spray. Doesn’t bother me a bit—but they may wish they’d kept quiet. Truth be told—and I’m into truth these days—I don’t know how much I depended on my nose before losing it. I don’t recall any life-changing events brought on by a smell. Well… except ether.

That horrible stench is permanently etched into my memory. I had two childhood surgeries under that gas and swore I’d never enter a hospital again. Even now, when the automatic doors open into a medical building, I brace myself, half-expecting to be gagged and knocked flat by the ghost of ether.

All in all, my life hasn’t been dramatically altered by the loss. But every once in a while, I’d like to enjoy the clean smell of fresh-cut green grass on a hot summer afternoon.

Another slice of life—burnt edges and all.

Little 

Voice