Aroma Therapy
How losing my sense of smell taught me gratitude
Kiana Doyle pours hot water into a mug for tea in her kitchen // Photo by Zach Dalton
Written by Kiana Doyle
The kettle dings as I drop a bag of my favorite tea into my favorite mug — the one with doodles of my hometown, Tacoma, on it. I pour the steaming water over the bag and watch in meditative silence as the fruity black tea steeps. I remove the bag, add two sugar cubes and a drop of milk and the tea is ready.
Once I’ve allowed it to cool a bit, I lift the mug up to my mouth and take a deep breath in.
Oh. Dang it.
Where notes of bergamot, black currant and caramel should be is … nothing. I can’t smell my lovingly-made cup of tea.
I take a little sip anyway, even though I know I will only be able to taste hot water with a hint of sweetness.
Oh well.
I lost my sense of smell in high school. Well, kind of. It’s a long story — which has nothing to do with COVID-19, by the way, since research from July 2022 shows that an estimated 5% of global COVID-19 infections resulted in a loss of smell lasting at least six months. My situation is different, and I’ll try to explain it as quickly as I can, — because there’s more to this story than just my medical history.
I developed a rather annoying combination of allergies and asthma during my sophomore year. What followed was lots of trial and error with new prescriptions and many trips to my asthma doctor, whom I hated. For the sake of this story, I’ll call him Dr. S.
Dr. S was a grouchy old man who didn’t like me much either, and every appointment we had would start the same way.
“You sound a little nasally today,” he would mumble, looking up from his clipboard to frown at me with his dark, and bushy eyebrows.
I never really thought much of it — aside from feeling insulted every time — until one day when he pulled out a Q-tip-like tool that I swear was a foot long. Dr. S said he was going to stick it in my nose and look for something called nasal polyps, since I had been complaining about not being able to smell for a few months at that point.
Dr. S went on to huffily explain that nasal polyps are small, benign growths that can develop in the tissue along the nasal passages as a result of chronic inflammation. They can lead to breathing problems, frequent infections and a lost sense of smell, he said. Polyps are associated with asthma and allergies and are reported to affect almost 12% of the adult population, according to the American Academy of Allergy, Asthma & Immunology.
After sticking the Q-tip through my nose straight back into what I was sure must have been my brain, — Dr. S had his answer right away: I definitely had nasal polyps.
I tried many different treatments for the polyps in the following months, but nothing made a difference. I was miserable, even more so once I learned that even with successful treatment, polyps typically come back.
I couldn’t believe I had taken the ability to smell for granted. I missed being able to smell cookies, and candles and other nice things.
“At least you don’t have to smell the bad things,” my mom offered one time while we were driving through traffic, the “Tacoma Aroma” stinking up the car.
I cracked a smile as I realized I couldn’t detect the combined scent of rotten eggs and tidal flats that my hometown is infamous for. Yet even then, I still missed my sense of smell.
Kiana Doyle sits and drinks tea in her home. // Photo by Zach Dalton
The story doesn’t end there, though. On occasion, as if by miracle, my sense of smell comes back.
I don’t know how or why, but sometimes I can smell again, if not only for a moment. Sometimes it happens after I have a bad cold or bout of allergies that completely flush out my sinuses, but not always. Other times I’ll just wake up and there it is.
My sense of smell never sticks around for long, which means all I can do is enjoy it while it lasts, knowing that it will inevitably go away again and perhaps never come back.
During the indefinite amount of time that I have it, every smell is a gift. Fresh rain on the pavement, smoky bacon cooking on a Saturday morning, even my stinky dog after a bath — each scent is cherished and precious to me because I only have memories of them most of the time.
A lesson of intentional gratitude has stuck with me ever since. In losing the ability to smell, I realized that nothing in this life is permanent or should be taken for granted, even the little things. And to celebrate every time my sense of smell does come back, I do one thing: I make a cup of my favorite tea in my favorite mug. And sometimes I can’t even smell the tea by the time I’m done making it.
And I’ve learned to be OK with that.
My sense of smell might come back soon; it might not. In the meantime, there are so many other things to be grateful for.