Congenital Anosmia--My Personal Experience
I've been reading today some about congenital anosmia, and thought I'd put down some of my own anecdotes about my experience with it.
One of the first things anyone learns about me is that I do not have a sense of smell, and haven't had one since birth. Growing up, I wasn't too concerned about entirely lacking one of the five senses, and only learned the technical term for it once I started college.
One of the most vivid memories I have from childhood is my mother, my little sister and I picking flowers from our garden, and my mom holding one under my nose for me to smell. "Doesn't that smell wonderful?" she asked. I took a deep whiff from the flower, and answered enthusiastically, "Yes!" I had smelled nothing, but felt like I needed to pretend otherwise. For several years as a child, I pretended to be able to smell but echoing statements made by others.
When I hit puberty, and hygiene began to become important, I had a hard time remembering to do things like put on deodorant, and failed to see the important of such a seemingly meaningless task. I showered, because otherwise my skin or hair felt gross, and brushed my teeth to get out the little bits of food stuck there.
Whenever I did laundry when I lived at home, I would have my parents "smell-test" my shirts and dresses to see what stank and needed to be washed, and what was fine to wear again. Now that I live in an apartment, I stick to a few simple rules 1) In summer, all shirts and dresses get washed after one wear (because it's likely I've sweated in them), and pants/skirts get washed if I've sweated enough to get them damp, or if they have gotten dirty or stained. 2) In winter, shirts/dresses get washed after two or three uses, or if I've sweated in them that day. Pants/skirts get washed when dirty.
The only part of not being able to smell I personally find as being even close to debilitating is that, as a writer, I will NEVER be able to creatively employ smell in my stories. I can either a) leave out any description of smell, and thus deprive my smelling readers from experiencing my book the way they would their own lives (maybe even having the consequence of breaking the spell of immersion novels should be able to cast) or b) parroting statements others have made. I know what certain things are supposed to smell like, and which smells are supposed to be good or bad, but that knowledge is only basic 'trash smells bad, flowers smell good' kind of description. It astounded me when, one day, one of my friends commented that 'today smells like winter.' I never knew abstract states, like weather or the seasons, had their own smells associated with them, that under the right conditions, could be experienced even if it wasn't that state.
Nowadays, I LOVE asked my friends what things smell like. Not just basic objects like flowers or bread or a book, but the larger, more complex experiences they subconsciously experience everyday. "What does rain smell like?" "What does a forest smell like?" "What does Ikea smell like?" One of the many reasons I love my boyfriend so much is that he is fascinated by my unique outlook on things, and enjoys answering my endless barrage of smell-related questions. He sees it as a fascinating intellectual exercise to try and describe smell to me, and I'm indebted to him for expanding my world the way he has.
I've had people react in three distinct ways when I tell them I lack a sense of smell. First of all, there's the near-universal "Oh, haha--wait, you're not kidding? Can you not smell, like, at all? How terrible! Do you taste food at all?"
There have also been some people who have flat-out refused to believe me, or think that I must be 'faking it' for some reason. I knew a girl at my last university who had a brother or cousin who had lost his sense of smell and didn't like any food, who told me I 'must either have some sense of smell or be lying about having [favorite foods].' I can understand that for someone who has been used to experiencing eating food with both smell and taste, losing the former must turn that experience into an unpleasant one, but I, having never had anything to compare it to, enjoy food just fine, despite lacking a sense of smell. Even my boyfriend, who knew I was telling the truth, couldn't quiet the part of his brain that felt irrational disbelief at my condition until (and I'm sorry this gets a little crude) he passed gas in the car while I was driving with the windows up, and the stench was enough to repulse him while I hadn't batted an eyelash.
(As a side-note, yes I can taste food. I speculate that my ability to taste food is more muted than it is in people who can smell, because food gets has both elements of 'flavor' and 'basic taste'. Flavor, which comes from smell, I miss out on, but I have favorite foods and least favorite foods just like anyone else. I love spicy food especially, even as a baby, because I get the most vibrant taste from spice than from any other type of taste. Food with 'light' or 'subtle' flavors I often hate plain, because I get no taste. I eat all my meat and many starches covered in Heinz 57 BBQ sauce, because it adds the flavor to, say, chicken or steak, that I would not get otherwise. Texture also plays a larger part in my likes/dislikes of food than I believe it does for most people. While most people can tolerate food that may be a little over-/under-prepared as long as it still has the right 'flavor' (which is smell-driven), I often cannot each food that is too mushy/burnt/soggy/etc. because the unpleasant texture distracts from the taste. I love my hamburgers with bacon, pickles, and onion because the crunch is an enjoyable counter-note to the more chewy meat and bun.
Then there are a handful of people, like my boyfriend, who are fascinated by my unique view of the world. I only started appreciating how different my life-experience has been from that of most people thanks to talking with Andrew and others like him. Lacking a sense of smell, unlike a sense of sight or hearing, doesn't feel debilitating. But the subtle differences between me and those who can smell (everyone else in my life) are VERY present, and in some cases very basic. I hope this meandering blog has given you some idea of what it might be like to live a life without smell.
One of the first things anyone learns about me is that I do not have a sense of smell, and haven't had one since birth. Growing up, I wasn't too concerned about entirely lacking one of the five senses, and only learned the technical term for it once I started college.
One of the most vivid memories I have from childhood is my mother, my little sister and I picking flowers from our garden, and my mom holding one under my nose for me to smell. "Doesn't that smell wonderful?" she asked. I took a deep whiff from the flower, and answered enthusiastically, "Yes!" I had smelled nothing, but felt like I needed to pretend otherwise. For several years as a child, I pretended to be able to smell but echoing statements made by others.
When I hit puberty, and hygiene began to become important, I had a hard time remembering to do things like put on deodorant, and failed to see the important of such a seemingly meaningless task. I showered, because otherwise my skin or hair felt gross, and brushed my teeth to get out the little bits of food stuck there.
Whenever I did laundry when I lived at home, I would have my parents "smell-test" my shirts and dresses to see what stank and needed to be washed, and what was fine to wear again. Now that I live in an apartment, I stick to a few simple rules 1) In summer, all shirts and dresses get washed after one wear (because it's likely I've sweated in them), and pants/skirts get washed if I've sweated enough to get them damp, or if they have gotten dirty or stained. 2) In winter, shirts/dresses get washed after two or three uses, or if I've sweated in them that day. Pants/skirts get washed when dirty.
The only part of not being able to smell I personally find as being even close to debilitating is that, as a writer, I will NEVER be able to creatively employ smell in my stories. I can either a) leave out any description of smell, and thus deprive my smelling readers from experiencing my book the way they would their own lives (maybe even having the consequence of breaking the spell of immersion novels should be able to cast) or b) parroting statements others have made. I know what certain things are supposed to smell like, and which smells are supposed to be good or bad, but that knowledge is only basic 'trash smells bad, flowers smell good' kind of description. It astounded me when, one day, one of my friends commented that 'today smells like winter.' I never knew abstract states, like weather or the seasons, had their own smells associated with them, that under the right conditions, could be experienced even if it wasn't that state.
Nowadays, I LOVE asked my friends what things smell like. Not just basic objects like flowers or bread or a book, but the larger, more complex experiences they subconsciously experience everyday. "What does rain smell like?" "What does a forest smell like?" "What does Ikea smell like?" One of the many reasons I love my boyfriend so much is that he is fascinated by my unique outlook on things, and enjoys answering my endless barrage of smell-related questions. He sees it as a fascinating intellectual exercise to try and describe smell to me, and I'm indebted to him for expanding my world the way he has.
I've had people react in three distinct ways when I tell them I lack a sense of smell. First of all, there's the near-universal "Oh, haha--wait, you're not kidding? Can you not smell, like, at all? How terrible! Do you taste food at all?"
There have also been some people who have flat-out refused to believe me, or think that I must be 'faking it' for some reason. I knew a girl at my last university who had a brother or cousin who had lost his sense of smell and didn't like any food, who told me I 'must either have some sense of smell or be lying about having [favorite foods].' I can understand that for someone who has been used to experiencing eating food with both smell and taste, losing the former must turn that experience into an unpleasant one, but I, having never had anything to compare it to, enjoy food just fine, despite lacking a sense of smell. Even my boyfriend, who knew I was telling the truth, couldn't quiet the part of his brain that felt irrational disbelief at my condition until (and I'm sorry this gets a little crude) he passed gas in the car while I was driving with the windows up, and the stench was enough to repulse him while I hadn't batted an eyelash.
(As a side-note, yes I can taste food. I speculate that my ability to taste food is more muted than it is in people who can smell, because food gets has both elements of 'flavor' and 'basic taste'. Flavor, which comes from smell, I miss out on, but I have favorite foods and least favorite foods just like anyone else. I love spicy food especially, even as a baby, because I get the most vibrant taste from spice than from any other type of taste. Food with 'light' or 'subtle' flavors I often hate plain, because I get no taste. I eat all my meat and many starches covered in Heinz 57 BBQ sauce, because it adds the flavor to, say, chicken or steak, that I would not get otherwise. Texture also plays a larger part in my likes/dislikes of food than I believe it does for most people. While most people can tolerate food that may be a little over-/under-prepared as long as it still has the right 'flavor' (which is smell-driven), I often cannot each food that is too mushy/burnt/soggy/etc. because the unpleasant texture distracts from the taste. I love my hamburgers with bacon, pickles, and onion because the crunch is an enjoyable counter-note to the more chewy meat and bun.
Then there are a handful of people, like my boyfriend, who are fascinated by my unique view of the world. I only started appreciating how different my life-experience has been from that of most people thanks to talking with Andrew and others like him. Lacking a sense of smell, unlike a sense of sight or hearing, doesn't feel debilitating. But the subtle differences between me and those who can smell (everyone else in my life) are VERY present, and in some cases very basic. I hope this meandering blog has given you some idea of what it might be like to live a life without smell.