I lost my sense of smell but I still inhale the world, and I like this version of me better

One of the enduring side effects of COVID-19 for millions of people is its impact on their sense of taste and smell. Some experience diminished senses, while others lose them entirely.

As my colleague Grace Hauck reported, most suffer from this for just a few weeks. But a growing number of people are experiencing long-term deprivation, and researchers can’t yet say for sure when their sense of smell and taste may return, if ever.  

This is frightening news for people who worry about issues of safety, such as the ability to smell a gas leak or smoke. Careers can be at stake, too, for those whose jobs depend on a strong sense of taste and smell.

What I most often see in news coverage and on social media, though, are stories of people who feel the quality of their lives have been deeply diminished because they can no longer smell and taste. This hits me hard, as I’ve known for decades what they’re only discovering.

Inhaling the world with every sense but smell

I’ll spare you the details, except to say that multiple surgeries in my 30s for sinus polyps robbed me of my ability to smell. Only when my asthma has required a short boost of steroids have I been able to smell. When that happens, I inhale the world, which explodes with memories of a time when I could smell every flower and recognize the scent of each loved one’s hair. I know it’s a brief reprieve, and even as I relish it, I feel a familiar sense of panic because I know I’m about to lose all of it again.

What I also want you to know is this: My life is full and overwhelmingly happy, despite this loss. Not being able to smell has required plenty of adjustments, and these have helped me live a larger life.

I wouldn’t have thought to write about this had I not recently begun rereading a book by Vietnamese monk and Zen master Thich Nhat Hahn, just days before his death at age 95. Thich Nhat Hanh (pronounced tik nyaht hahn) influenced the peace movement in this country and urged his friend Martin Luther King Jr. to oppose the Vietnam War. The year before his death, King nominated "this gentle monk from Vietnam" for the Nobel Peace Prize.

I had been reading his books for years by the time I married my husband, in 2004. Later that year, we met him at a retreat for some members of Congress and their families. We sat in a circle and as instructed, began to introduce ourselves one at a time. Born Nguyen Dinh Lang, he assumed the Dharma name Thich Nhat Hanh upon his ordination in 1949. To his followers he was simply known as Thay, or teacher. Our words were steeped in awe for him, and he gently shut that down. He did not want to hear our praise for him. He wanted to know where we were on our journey to bring peace to our hurting world.

I have never forgotten that lesson in leadership. Recently, when I started feeling a new weariness about this pandemic, I returned to his 2012 book, “Fear: Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm.”

“Fear keeps us focused on the past or worried about the future,” he wrote. “If we can acknowledge our fear, we can realize that right now we are okay. Right now, today, we are still alive, and our bodies are working marvelously. Our eyes can still see the beautiful sky. Our ears can still hear the voices of our loved ones … we can enjoy the sunshine, the fog, the air, and the water.”

This has helped me tremendously, and it brings me back to you in this conversation about our senses.

A more aware, better version of myself

I cannot smell, but I can feel the breeze on my face and know spring has arrived. I miss being able to fully taste my favorite foods, but I can look out any window and feast my eyes. I hear the voices of young people in my life – my grandchildren, my students, the happy little girl just down the street – and my heart fills with joy.

From the time I was a teenager, I have loved to cook. To feed the people I love! Few things bring me more joy. Since I lost my sense of smell, I must depend on recipes. I have a limited sense of taste, but I am lucky to have a life full of people willing to sample whatever is simmering on my stove. I used to be so territorial in my kitchen. I like this version of me better.

I must be practical, of course. We have a ridiculous number of smoke alarms in our house, each with a 10-year battery and connected to a network. I buy Costco bundles of soap, because I shall be squeaky clean every single day. I check diapers by sight instead of smell, and that is one scent I am not sorry to miss. Likewise, if you are in the hospital, I am the perfect bedside companion, no matter the smells.

This is not an attempt to diminish the suffering of those of you who are struggling right now with a sudden loss of your senses. This is just me waving to you from a few feet ahead, eager to remind you of all that remains.    

Connie Schultz is a columnist for Paste BN. She is a Pulitzer Prize winner whose novel, "The Daughters of Erietown," is a New York Times bestseller. Reach her at CSchultz@usatoday.com or on Twitter: @ConnieSchultz