When does our ability to cope morph into a refusal to act? The ability to bear up in less than optimal circumstances is often a good thing — a sign of strength. But there’s a dark side to forbearance. Getting used to things means we don’t try to change them. As always, the personal is political, so here’s example in my own life — one in which I literally could not sense how bad my situation was. Bear with me — it involves my nose.
I’ve struggled with chronic nasal issues for decades. My first stint with anosmia — that’s the medical term for a broken sniffer — was in my 20s, when I underwent sinus surgery. It took years for my sense of smell to return. I lived in New York City at the time, and as Greta Thunberg has recently reminded us all, New York City has some pretty strong smells. I joked that I didn’t mind not being able to smell the subway or the piles of garbage. But smell isn’t just smell. It’s also taste. My tongue still worked — I could discern between salty and sweet. But I couldn’t get anything beyond that. To me, vanilla and chocolate tasted the same. Tomato soup and chicken soup? The same.
I soldiered through that first bout of anosmia, missing the smell of lilacs in the spring and woodsmoke in the fall. But I could see, and hear, and feel, and touch. ‘So what if I couldn’t smell?’ I told myself. And then, shortly after my second child was born, my sense of smell finally came back — just in time for me to sniff my newborn baby’s head. I could also smell her poopy diaper, of course, but that was fine with me. Nothing smelled bad to me when I was so grateful to be able to smell at all. It was as though a black-and-white movie was suddenly full color. I would never take my sense of smell for granted.
Except… that was 15 years ago, and guess what: As the years went by, I did take my sense of smell for granted. I know because I lost it again a year and a half ago after a bad sinus infection, and found myself back in the world of black and white, deeply afraid that the colors would never come back. I went to my doctor, who sent me to a specialist, who tried one thing that didn’t work and then another thing that didn’t work and then essentially shrugged and said, “Good luck.”
Luck wasn’t what I was looking for, but it’s all I was offered. So, just as I had in my 20s, I adapted. I maintained a philosophical outlook. “At least I can see. At least I can hear. At least I can taste” — oh, wait, I couldn’t really taste — “well, at least I can feel.” It was not until I couldn’t breathe through my nose anymore that I finally went to see a new specialist… who almost immediately was able to get my nose working again. I was eating a banana when suddenly I realized I could smell and taste it. The world was colorful again. Just like that.
My first response? I wept. Then I began a frantic smelling tour of everything in the kitchen. It was so glorious to be able to smell and taste again! It wasn’t until a couple weeks later, after the initial excitement faded, that I started to feel kind of angry — at myself. Why had I let this go on for so long? Why hadn’t I advocated more aggressively for proper treatment? How had I lulled myself into accepting what was clearly unacceptable?
I see the same mental gymnastics at work in so many larger ways. People stay in toxic relationships, terrible jobs and lousy living situations. As a country, we’ve continued to plod on under an administration that is endangering our democracy, and as a world, we’re watching mutely as the temperatures rise and rise and rise.
September was the month that I came to my senses, so to speak. It was also the month we finally heard a young girl shouting about the climate, and the month Congress began pushing back against a crooked executive branch. I wish I could tell you that my nose is still working perfectly — but it’s not. A few days ago, the colors faded back into black and white. But don’t worry about me, because I’m not giving up. Like so many things, tricky medical situations take time, effort, patience and persistence. One thing I can say for certain is I’m not going to quietly accept the unacceptable anymore. Maybe I’m not alone.
Naomi Shulman’s work has appeared in many publications including the New York Times, The Washington Post and Yankee Magazine, as well as on NEPR and WBUR. Follow her on Twitter: @naomishulman.