Anosmia

I’ve always had a very poor sense of smell. In the past it’s disappeared completely for months on end, only to return suddenly, and delightfully, bathing me in an aspect of the world I’d all but forgotten. Then it’ll drift away, immersing me once more in a world considerably less vibrant.

Without a sense of smell, one’s sense of taste is also impaired. I can discern the main themes in food – salty, sweet, sour and spicy, but the infinite subtleties of flavour are lost. Restaurant menus become pointless – shall I have the Pork, the Salmon or the Chicken? It makes no difference because they all taste roughly the same. I usually go for the curry, the hotter the better because at least then I know I’m eating something.

But smell means so much more than just enjoying your food. It also plays a role in triggering and storing memories. The scent of something quite innocent can suddenly release a flood of poignant recollection from decades ago. It’s also useful to be able to tell when something’s burning, or if there’s a gas leak, because it can save your life.

What I miss most is the scent of a freshly mown lawn, coffee beans, a wild meadow after rain, sun-baked bracken on a Lake District hillside, the sea, wild garlic, lavender, rosemary, river water, honeysuckle, freshly baked bread, the fragrance-counter in Boots, and a smoky, peaty single malt whiskey. Sure, you miss a lot of the world when you can no longer smell it.

It’s called Anosmia.

So far this year I’ve been entirely anosmic, except for the occasional period of phantosmia – smelling things that aren’t really there. Sounds weird? Believe me there have been times when the world has smelled vaguely of iodine. My computer, my laptop, my Kindle and my iPad all stink of it at the moment, as if it’s leaching out of my fingertips – but no one else can smell it.

It’s not all bad news though. I had to go rummaging through the bin one evening for something my son was sure had been thrown away, and which he desperately needed. I could tell the job stank by the look on his face, but I couldn’t smell anything, and was glad for it. Yuk! I still made sure I put all my kit in the wash afterwards, then had a good shower, because that’s another thing about anosmia, you become paranoid about your personal hygiene, always making sure you’re well scrubbed and that you have a fresh shirt to hand. When you can’t rely on your nose to tell you you’re over-ripe, you need a regular plan of preventative maintenance.

I used to get hay fever as a youngster, and maybe that’s shrivelled the nerves in my nose over the years -otherwise I don’t know. And while on that subject, another upside is I no longer suffer from common allergies. I remember how I used to seal myself indoors of a summer in order to avoid pollen, but now I can roll about in the hay as much as I want to.

And the doctor’s advice?

Well, I went to see the sawbones about it recently, but he shrugged at me in that rather discouraging way he has, then suggested I tried a nasal spray. Failing this it was a trip to the ear nose and throat specialist at the hospital, but he felt that would probably be a waste of time as well. All told, I came away not exactly brim-full of hope. Anyway, I picked up my nasal spray from the chemist – noted with some concern that it contained steroids – then commenced snorting it twice a day, as per the sawbones’ instructions.

He suggested I kept it up for a month, then go back to see him if it hadn’t worked and he’d make me that appointment at the hospital. But I only managed it for three weeks before developing regular stomach ache, chest pains and shortness of breath. Then I began to feel rather odd in myself – dissociated, wanting nothing to do with the world or anyone in it – all right I feel like this most of the time, but not usually to such a heightened degree. I also spent an entire weekend hiding from my family, unable to cope with anything they wanted of me – and growling at anyone who asked me what the matter was.
Clearly something was wrong.

In the absence of any other clues, I stopped using the steroid spray and my sense of self resurfaced within a few days, all be it still without his sense of smell. But he could breathe okay and no longer felt like he was about to have a heart attack. His family also agreed he was becoming human again, and more importantly, capable of being nagged and needled without going ballistic – which is always a good sign.

I’m not sure where to go from here. Whether to just be accepting of it, or to explore things further – after all I’ve lived with it for decades, so why get upset about it now? What I’ll not be doing is returning to the sawbones. He’s a likeable chap, but apart from an alarming reaction I once had to a bottle of Chianti he’s not managed to cure a single thing I’ve presented him with. When I come away from his surgery, I’m always left thinking a thing will either get better on its own, you’ll have to live with it, or it’ll kill you, so why bother the sawbones about it anyway? Next time I’m in town, I may duck into the acupuncture and herb shop, see what traditional Chinese medicine has to offer.

You never know.

Graeme out.