Guys. Have you tried ramen? Not the fancy handmade kind, I’m talking the kind you get at the store for—well, it cost 17¢ when i was in college, anyway. I can taste it! I don’t learn this until mid-afternoon. My day starts with Metamucil again, because why not? My sister in law, Michelle, texts to check in and seconds the advice about rest, and adds, “overhydrate!” Her niece brought covid home from school to her parents at the end of last week so it’s not just us, which is weirdly comforting and also pretty depressing. I start noticing people on podcasts saying, “back during the pandemic,” and try not to feel too sensitive about it. They don’t realize they’re making that mistake. I make some English breakfast tea and head outside to mess with the morning glory vines that have taken over our garden since we left for a few days last week. They’re pretty unruly, but have really lovely deep purple blooms that I do quite like. The moonflower vines on the other side of the garden are completely out of control, starting to spread onto our neighbor’s fence. I mostly wind the vines back but run out of energy pretty quickly. The tea is still nice and warm when I get back inside and I decide to enjoy it, rather than thinking about how short that venture must have been.  I putter around a little and catch myself sniffing my fingers after absently rubbing a basil leaf between them. Did it even have a scent? I try again. No. Maybe the rosemary next to it? Also no.

I sit at the counter to finish my tea and register the web address www.SarahHasNoTaste.com. I kind of can’t believe it’s available, so I feel pretty lucky. 

For lunch, I make chicken ramen, going through the motions I always do even though I know it won’t matter. Do I even add the spice packet? I mean…sure. I think how maybe I’ll make a salad for dinner, if the vegetables are cold enough I might even be able to taste them. Plus, I’ve read that some people can taste vinegar, so that’s kind of exciting.

I sit down to eat, glumly eyeing a bowl of home grown cherry tomatoes that surely taste like nothing as I lift my spoon to my lips and holy God, it tastes…a lot like chicken ramen. Is this it? An all soup diet? I can make a mean soup. And, of course, the only thing better than soup…is the possibility of more soup. After polishing off the bowl, I nibble hopefully on another chocolate chip cookie, but alas. Lily spends a while tracking a bug on one of our windows, which Liam finally catches in some paper towel. “Go flush it,” I instruct, and he looks at me, horrified. “I’m going to set him free,” he says, going to the door and opening it, letting the bug fly away. “Go flush it,” he imitates me as he closes the door. I can’t say I don’t deserve it.

I spend most of my afternoon working on some knitting projects for Christmas presents that I won’t post about here. I finish one, and reward myself with one of Liam’s popsicles, since we’re out of strawberry bars. It mostly tastes like nothing, but I still feel pretty accomplished.

I chat with a couple of friends, including our dog walker, who doesn’t feel comfortable coming into our home until we all test negative. I get it, but it’s kind of a bummer. I miss seeing my friend most days, and Lily really misses her walking buddy. I open a package to find a scented candle I was really excited about and smile, thinking of the smelling spree I’m going to go on when this is all over. “I picture you, I don’t know. Frolicking through a meadow,” my friend says when I tell her about this, and I laugh. Frolicking is a good word.

For dinner, I decide to try some lentil soup that’s leftover in the fridge. It’s some of the best I’ve ever made, and I’m thrilled it tastes like anything when I try it, but I still know it doesn’t taste as good as it is. Still, I add ingredients to my grocery list to make another batch. The textures are amazing, I have to say. The carrots are this perfect almost-al dente, the lentils are sort of pleasantly mushy, the broth is thick. It’s got lemon juice in it, maybe that’s why I can taste it? Liam yells from the living room about how much he wants a taco as I practically lick the bowl clean. 

We somehow talk Liam into watching the first Harry Potter movie. He really doesn’t want to, but we ply him with popcorn and couch snuggles. The popcorn only has the faintest taste of salt and I ultimately give up on it, but Liam seems to love the movie, so overall it’s a huge win.

I wake up hungry and with low blood sugar and am immediately curious. What do I do for low blood sugar when I can’t taste anything? Taste isn’t the point, of course—it’s having some sugar or carbs to get my BG up—but I’ve often used a low as an excuse to have something delicious that’s too sugary to have on a normal day. I end up having another fruit bar and a few grapes. This might not be too bad. I try the coffee, which I’ve been looking forward to, but unfortunately, I still don’t like black coffee. Oh well. I take the focaccia dough from the fridge and put it into a baking pan on the stovetop to rise. Why am I even making this? Whatever. 

I spend the next few hours looking half heartedly through the cupboards for something I might want to eat. I make some English breakfast tea and it has a little bit of flavor, which is such a relief. I put an apple in the fridge, hoping it’ll taste like something if I try to cut it up when it’s cold.  I bake the focaccia—only salt on top for this one. Kurt comes downstairs to do some dishes and I ask how he’s doing. Can he smell things? Can he smell the dish soap? “No,” he says, and my anxiety spikes until he points out that he didn’t actually USE any dish soap. I mean…fine. I ask if he can smell the bread baking and he says, “oh, THAT’S what that smell is!” Right, baking bread has a scent. How soon we forget. When it comes out and cools a bit, I eat half of the loaf as I try to decide whether it tastes like anything other than salt. It’s nice to feel full.

A handful of friends check in. I speak to one who has recovered from covid, who advises “more rest than you think you need,” so I take a nap. When I get up I take a shower, and it’s so weird to be in the shower and not smell the soap, shampoo, face wash—anything. Is clean hair really clean if you can’t enjoy how good it smells? (Yes. Duh.)

I have Metamucil for dinner. Berry flavor. It actually tastes pretty good.

I go to a zoom meeting and get a chance to poke fun at my situation, which always makes me feel better. I get to hear other people talk about what’s going on in their lives and it feels good to take it all in. My mint tea is not as flavorful as the tea I tried earlier, but it’s got a bit of a mint essence to it, plus it’s warm and cozy. One friend who experienced what I am recommends trying citric acid, which was the only thing she could taste before she got better. I chat with two of my favorites for a while and laugh and laugh. It’s very healing. They both like the idea of a blog called “Sarah has no taste,” so I make a mental note to look into that tomorrow. We sign off and I head downstairs. I eat the rest of the focaccia bread before going to bed.

Monday, September 12, 2022

I notice it first when I go outside for the first time in days to see if my roses are blooming, and notice they have no smell. Strange, they had smelled lovely earlier in the summer. What a shame, I guess autumn roses just don’t smell as much as summer ones do?

I go back inside and don’t think of it again until I’m unpacking groceries. I’d ordered only a few, thinking I’ll make chicken stock so I can make the homemade chicken and vegetable soup I’ve been craving since learning I have covid 19. I put chicken wings, carrots, onions and garlic next to my instant pot, along with some celery and thyme, and pull out a scented candle I’d included in my order. Just for a little treat. A little pumpkin shaped thing, purporting to smell like woodsmoke. I take the card stock seal from the top and sniff. Nothing. What a disappointment! But now I’m a little suspicious. I pick up another nearby candle and smell that, too. It has a scent, but more faint than it had been days earlier. I text Kurt, “I feel like my sense of smell is fading.” No response. I go into the kitchen to find something for lunch. The lentil soup in the fridge smells good. Ok. So it’s not totally gone. I heat it up and sit to eat. Delicious! Ok, at least I still have THAT. I go lie down 

When I get up to make the focaccia I’ve been craving, there’s a package of chocolate chip cookies on the stove. I snag one as I’m putting the lid on the bowl of dough and turn to put it in the fridge, then stop. What do these taste like? I probe at the cookie in my mouth with my tongue. Is there no chocolate in this one? I grab the box and hunt for the cookie with the most chocolate chips in it and pop that one into my mouth. 

Nothing.

Sigh.

I strain the chicken stock and put it into the fridge to cool. It’s so strange, I can feel the steam going into my nose as I sniff hopefully at it, but it might as well just be hot water. Kurt later assures me that it smells great, which gives me a really interesting mix of, oh good! And also, what the fuck. On a random inspiration, I try a tiny sprinkle of kosher salt, and can taste it. I try some hot sauce that I can’t normally taste anyway (too spicy), and can’t taste it (though it burns my tongue a little bit). Interesting.

I pour myself some leftover gazpacho for dinner and it’s the strangest eating experience of my life. Not to toot my own horn, but I make excellent gazpacho. Full of delicious flavor. This, though? It’s difficult to even think of how to describe it. It’s like it’s all wrapped in Saran Wrap or something. Maybe this is what it would be like to unknowingly eat a piece of bubble wrap? It’s basically just cold crunchy wet bits swimming in thick cold liquid. Maybe I’m about to become very aware of texture? 

I text Palmer to tell him. “You’re behind the glass!” He says, referencing an episode of The Daily about people with no sense of smell that we had discussed in summer of 2021. I do some googling as I eat, and see that I’m likely to get these senses back in a few weeks, though it could be more like months, and in some cases, years. Oh, God, can I do this for years? I try a pretzel rod and it probably just tastes like salt but it’s so nice to have any flavor at all. I read that some people say temperature can make a difference, that hot or cold things can hold more taste than room temperature things. I try a strawberry fruit bar and can taste something! It’s mild, but it’s a flavor and I’m so happy. Green grapes from the fridge almost taste like normal. Hooray! 

I grind unscented (to me) coffee beans and set a timer on the coffee pot—maybe this is when I start liking my coffee black? That would be kind of cool.

I do some more half hearted research and head to bed. NyQuil still tastes awful, so I guess there’s that.