Shared with permission from an anonymous community member
I had Covid-19 in December of 2020. My partner came down with symptoms, received positive test results, and my physical symptoms emerged a few days later. Sore throat, fever and chills on the first three days, followed by sneezing and a runny nose, all accompanied by a persistent fatigue that could not be alleviated. By the seventh day of my symptoms, all upper respiratory symptoms had subsided, except that I was left without my senses of taste and smell.
This was the beginning of a new chapter in my experience with Covid-19. The news headlines had prepared me well for the physical aspect of the illness, as well as what steps were needed to protect my family and the community. Losing my taste and smell came at the end of my physical symptoms, so for all practical purposes, I was “back to normal” in my home (coming out of isolation, eating meals with the family, unmasked, participating in family movie/game nights, and assisting with remote learning). At first, we all had fun with it: how much raw garlic, onion, and ginger can you eat without getting an upset stomach? “You must be losing weight!” and “I could stand to lose my sense of taste for a while…” were the friendly and innocent comments that close friends were making. I did end up losing 4 pounds temporarily, because the only sensations I experienced while eating were from spiciness, saltiness, sourness, and sweetness. I could not experience flavor.
Once the novelty wore off, I faced the reality of losing 40% of one’s sensory input.
You know the smell of onions sautéing in butter on a stove? There’s a critical point in the cooking process when the onions go from perfectly browned to black and crispy. I missed those clues, and burned the whole pan. Our very next steps were to check the batteries on our smoke detectors.
The most surprising revelation came about a week after having no taste or smell. When I hugged my daughters, I couldn’t smell their hair, or their sugary sweet fingers after eating waffles for breakfast. I couldn’t smell my partner’s neck when we hugged, and I couldn’t smell my own body to know if I was in need of extra deodorant. As a result, my emotional bonding and intimacy with my family members was greatly affected. I pulled away from those interactions because they were too painful to experience. These experiences didn’t switch on like an overhead light, so I didn’t recognize the connection between my Covid illness and this subtle onset of depression. Losing my sense of taste meant that I often skipped meals because even though I sometimes felt hungry, the sensation of chewing food without any flavor was not appetizing.
I was physically well, but the brightness and joy in everyday moments was whitewashed with a grey filter. That’s how I can best describe my Covid depression.
For many reasons, we kept our situation a secret from most friends and family. Even though we were taking every precaution recommended by the CDC (such as grocery delivery, quarantining at home, mask-wearing), we feared judgment from our community. I didn’t know if my case was normal or abnormal, if my senses would ever come back, and if they did come back, if they would be the same. I also felt the burden of grief comparison. I only lost my sense of taste and smell, but there were people who had lost their loved ones, their jobs, or their housing. Because of this isolation and secrecy, the depression was unrelenting throughout the entire month of December.
In desperate search of community and understanding, I joined a private Facebook group of 17,000 members who had lost their taste and smell due to COVID. I drank in every drop of information and camaraderie on that group, learning skills such as “smell training”, in which one uses essential oils to train their brain how to recognize smells again. I learned about “long-haulers” who had finally turned a corner in their 8th month, and had regained their senses. I learned about people who had regained their senses, but experienced a strange inaccuracy in the way their brains recognized a smell or taste (tastes like gasoline, chemicals, or “just burnt.”)
Simply knowing that I wasn’t alone- that I wasn’t at fault- gave me instant relief. With that, I gained the courage to lean into this strange new “normal”.
I discovered ways of maximizing the sensations I could enjoy, such as sourness, and spiciness. I bought a bag of wasabi-seasoned almonds, squeezed entire lemons to my seltzer waters, and savored the crunchiness of a honey crisp apple. Most importantly, I cherished the fact that I could see, hear, and touch my loved ones. Even though I couldn’t experience the fullness of my senses when I was with them, I realized that my memory and imagination could function remarkably well in making up the difference. On the 26th day after my first symptom, both my taste and smell began to return to normal.
I’m writing because I want someone to know what I went through. Surely, I can’t be the only one. I was in a dark place of loneliness, shame, fear, and depression. I didn’t know if it would ever end, and at the same time, felt like I should be thankful for the mildness of my experience. I’m grateful and relieved to say that all of this is behind me, but it’s certainly not over for others.
If you work with people who went through this, please have compassion and kindness for them beyond the physical aspects of COVID-19. Just let them know that it’s important to notice all of those dark emotions that COVID brings, but help them know they don’t have to believe everything they think during their darkest moments. COVID has turned everything upside down for the whole world, in ways we are still discovering.