The thing about me being not such a good traveler anymore? Apparently I need to confine my journeys to large cities in America, where I can find both an English-speaking doctor and a well-stocked pharmacy less than fifteen minutes from where I may be at any given moment. So that at 6:00 a.m. I can wake up Jack and tell him that I've been laying in our hotel bed for the last four hours listening to my heart go THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP at roughly 160 beats a minute and trying every meditative trick in the book and would he help me somehow? By doing something? Maybe just holding my hand?
But Jack's not about comfort in these situations, Jack's about phoning the 24-hour walk-in clinic in Waikiki and telling them that we're on our way; he's about finding a wheelchair to push me up to the hotel taxi stand because if he doesn't he'll have to carry me piggyback, and at least this way Jackson can have a thrill by riding through the deserted halls of the Kahala Mandarin Oriental on my lap.
My doctor looked like Alan Cummings, but with farcical facial hair and a tropical doctor shirt. He gave me an EKG and diagnosed a slight case dehydration, the cure for which would be Gatorade. (See! I'm high maintenance, but at the same time I'm low maintenance!)
Then Alan Cummings heard me cough like Phyllis Diller after ten stogies and a quart of rye and said, "Whoa, how long have you had that?" "About a month," I said. He suggested, "A month perhaps indicates infection. You want an antibiotic?" Then he looked right, then left, arched his eyebrows in a way that rather deftly avoided being vaudevillian, though did not avoid bringing the word to mind, and whispered, "I have cough syrup, too."
I took his Zithromax; and though I appreciated the way the codeine in his cough syrup knocked me flat on my ass, it also made my lower back ache in a way that suggested kidney damage, and so I threw the rest in the trash.
While still at the clinic, Jack took the opportunity to follow up with another doctor about a rash that was threatening to move beyond the confines of his Speedo, and got a shot of cortisone in the ass. Jackson, riveted throughout the entire procedure, then turned to me and said, "When I get a shot next time? I'm not going to cry."
When we got back to the hotel I suddenly began to feel chilled, so I wrapped up in bed while the boys went to the beach and thus my last three days of vacation were spent curled up in bed with yet another case of the flu. It's really not such a bad thing to lay around going in and out of consciousness in a nice hotel. You draw the curtains and time passes. You drift through sleep for several days while room service brings you $8.00 bowls of soup and $4.00 pots of tea, and spouse and offspring come and go in various stages of sunburn and salt encrustation. Really, it's fine.
I was well enough to travel by the fourth day, and now nine days later I can breathe through both nostrils again, but my sense of smell hasn't returned, and it seems to have taken my sense of taste with it. Thus, Thanksgiving dinner was a flavorless festival of textures and colors. I can bury my nose in clean laundry and sense somehow the fullness of that odor -- its dimensions, if you will -- without any of its brand-name (Tide, Bounce) specifics. The dog farted this morning and cleared the living room of children, yet all I sensed was an ineffable presence of the fart's weight, of its density, without breathing in the full flower of my canine's colonic decay.
As far as taste goes, I can tell when something's sweet or salty, but I estimate I'm only getting about five percent of the total flavor. Overall, I feel as though about ten percent of me is missing somewhere; is, like, not even asleep, but is in a coma. And though I feel more sexual than I have in quite some time, orgasm is a mysterious effort, is like asking me to flex a muscle in my head that I'm not sure exists. My sense of humor, too, has been sanded down to a dull edge, and it feels like the only things left to perceive in life are the blunt facts. Frivolity is missing; delight. I'm starting to wonder if the combination of flu, infection, and antibiotic destroyed part of my brain, gave me some sort of viral icepick lobotomy.
I looked up "losing your sense of smell + flu" online. One guy is suing the makers of Zicam, claiming overexposure to zinc destroyed his sense of smell (Jack had Zicam in his kit but I decided to take all his Alka Seltzer Cold Medicine instead). Others describe losing their sense of smell after having an upper respiratory infection but having it return slowly, over days or months, or sometimes years. God, years!*
I suppose now would be a fine time for me to get a job collecting garbage, or gutting fish, or feeding pigs. Or spraying people with perfume as they step off the escalator at Macy's.
*Others, of course, have brain tumors.
But Jack's not about comfort in these situations, Jack's about phoning the 24-hour walk-in clinic in Waikiki and telling them that we're on our way; he's about finding a wheelchair to push me up to the hotel taxi stand because if he doesn't he'll have to carry me piggyback, and at least this way Jackson can have a thrill by riding through the deserted halls of the Kahala Mandarin Oriental on my lap.
My doctor looked like Alan Cummings, but with farcical facial hair and a tropical doctor shirt. He gave me an EKG and diagnosed a slight case dehydration, the cure for which would be Gatorade. (See! I'm high maintenance, but at the same time I'm low maintenance!)
Then Alan Cummings heard me cough like Phyllis Diller after ten stogies and a quart of rye and said, "Whoa, how long have you had that?" "About a month," I said. He suggested, "A month perhaps indicates infection. You want an antibiotic?" Then he looked right, then left, arched his eyebrows in a way that rather deftly avoided being vaudevillian, though did not avoid bringing the word to mind, and whispered, "I have cough syrup, too."
I took his Zithromax; and though I appreciated the way the codeine in his cough syrup knocked me flat on my ass, it also made my lower back ache in a way that suggested kidney damage, and so I threw the rest in the trash.
While still at the clinic, Jack took the opportunity to follow up with another doctor about a rash that was threatening to move beyond the confines of his Speedo, and got a shot of cortisone in the ass. Jackson, riveted throughout the entire procedure, then turned to me and said, "When I get a shot next time? I'm not going to cry."
When we got back to the hotel I suddenly began to feel chilled, so I wrapped up in bed while the boys went to the beach and thus my last three days of vacation were spent curled up in bed with yet another case of the flu. It's really not such a bad thing to lay around going in and out of consciousness in a nice hotel. You draw the curtains and time passes. You drift through sleep for several days while room service brings you $8.00 bowls of soup and $4.00 pots of tea, and spouse and offspring come and go in various stages of sunburn and salt encrustation. Really, it's fine.
I was well enough to travel by the fourth day, and now nine days later I can breathe through both nostrils again, but my sense of smell hasn't returned, and it seems to have taken my sense of taste with it. Thus, Thanksgiving dinner was a flavorless festival of textures and colors. I can bury my nose in clean laundry and sense somehow the fullness of that odor -- its dimensions, if you will -- without any of its brand-name (Tide, Bounce) specifics. The dog farted this morning and cleared the living room of children, yet all I sensed was an ineffable presence of the fart's weight, of its density, without breathing in the full flower of my canine's colonic decay.
As far as taste goes, I can tell when something's sweet or salty, but I estimate I'm only getting about five percent of the total flavor. Overall, I feel as though about ten percent of me is missing somewhere; is, like, not even asleep, but is in a coma. And though I feel more sexual than I have in quite some time, orgasm is a mysterious effort, is like asking me to flex a muscle in my head that I'm not sure exists. My sense of humor, too, has been sanded down to a dull edge, and it feels like the only things left to perceive in life are the blunt facts. Frivolity is missing; delight. I'm starting to wonder if the combination of flu, infection, and antibiotic destroyed part of my brain, gave me some sort of viral icepick lobotomy.
I looked up "losing your sense of smell + flu" online. One guy is suing the makers of Zicam, claiming overexposure to zinc destroyed his sense of smell (Jack had Zicam in his kit but I decided to take all his Alka Seltzer Cold Medicine instead). Others describe losing their sense of smell after having an upper respiratory infection but having it return slowly, over days or months, or sometimes years. God, years!*
I suppose now would be a fine time for me to get a job collecting garbage, or gutting fish, or feeding pigs. Or spraying people with perfume as they step off the escalator at Macy's.
*Others, of course, have brain tumors.
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38 Comments:
This post settles it: Mrs. Kennedy would defeat Joni Mitchell when the competition is based on describing a dog's gas. I hope you get all better fast.
While I like the sanitation worker and perfume mister attack position ideas--really, I do--I'm thinking it might be more prudent to just give it another few days and then maybe see your own doctor for follow-up. Call me crazy. ;)
What is it about Hawaii and its walk-in clinics? I had a migraine at the Halekulani several years ago, and not only did the concierge get me a cab, the doc-in-the-box saw me in 10 minutes, dispensed a shot of Demerol almost before I told him my name. Doesn't work like that on the mainland.
As for pharmacies, I want all of them to deliver, like mine does.
I think your sense of humor is definitely intact.
That said, I do hope you feel better soon. My baby is currently objecting to Zithromax - perhaps she should try the codeine-ified cough syrup instead.
Aw, I was sick on Thanksgiving and missed not only the colors and textures but ALSO the Tom Jones concert the next day.
My mom used to get severe upper respiratory infections and lose her sense of taste for a few weeks. Talk about cranky. But it did come back. My fingers are crossed that you shall soon once again be able to fully appreciate a dog fart.
beer and hot sauce should fix you right up. thats what my momma always told me.
horseradish.
I'm not a doctor, so all I can tell ya is hope you get your shnozz back to normal soon so you can smell dog farts.
Oh, god, you take one thing away from this post and it's dog farts? My writing still needs work, doesn't it.
Whatever was lurking in your system (perhaps for weeks prior) has taken its toll. It takes a bit to get ALL of your sense of smell back, and maybe because it's supposed to be linked to your sense of taste. One will return when the other does...eventually. Glad you're back, though.
I took "Tide & Bounce" from the entry. Hope you feel better soon. I often get "a chest" right around Christmas, reminding me of the theory that the lungs are organs of grief.
I grew up in a family of doctors, but theyre a grab bag full of northern michigan white trash and southern hill folk, so we always fixed everything with a hot toddy or even just a shot of wild turkey popped in the microwave for 30 seconds at my house. Works like a charm!
PS-codiene is hell bottom system regularity from what I hear, but Im up there with Dooce as far as regularity goes, so that might just be my own special side effect...
Wow, never heard of the smell-loss thing, bizarre!
Oh man, that sounds horrible. I was going to say something funny, but I don't want to waste it when your sense of humor is ailing. So I'll just say I hope you feel better soon.
Are you eating? Diminished sense of smell and taste doesn't bode well for your needed caloric intake. You aren't going to get better if you aren't eating--you don't have the body fat to burn, now, do you? Eat! Eat!
(This fulfills your FDA-recommended daily nagging/mom-ish comment requirement.)
Indeed, eating is kind of a chore at the moment. Drinking isn't a problem, though.
I was without a good portion of my hearing and smell for over a month, and it felt like I was removed from the full experience of the rest of my senses as well. I thought it was just me, but the orgasm thing was a no go during that time. Bizarre. My smell is back, though, and it seemed to return right after I had my ears flushed. I hope this all clears up for you soon.
I lost my sense of smell for about a year when I was in high school. The docs never did figure out why, and blamed it on an upper respiratory infection. It did come back eventually but then things didn't smell the same as they did in my memory, which was really hard to explain to people.
The loss of the sense of smell is called anosmia, by the way.
Yeah, who needs to smell booze?
In other news, I hope you feel better soon. Sounds like Jack probably can't complain though! :)
I was fortunate enough to get tonsillitis and stomach-sick in Venezuela, where the sounds and smells of the developing world come at you 24 hours a day. And all this happened while my boyfriend and I were sharing hotel rooms with a vampy girl from Las Vegas who gestured with her cigarette, hated Lost in Translation, and slept in nothing but her "jog bra" and shorts.
Good luck with your nose. Your writing has lost no spark whatsoever.
I'm sorry; it would be a disservice to focus on the dog's gas, like I did. I really come here for the writing and am never disappointed. "I can't undo what I've done, but I can atone." -- Rep. Randy "Duke" Cunningham (R-Calif.)
Ok, this post is why I read Fussy. Well, this and the Jackson pictures. Mrs. Kennedy, do you realize that you made poetry out of a dog fart? You? are my idol.
How about spraying people with gutted fish as they step off the escalator at Macy's?
OMG I left this super long comment about making Matzoh Ball Soup and my comment was eradicated into the nethers of the internet. Bah!!!
So anyway, yeah, make the soup...
OH BLOODY HELL, HERE:
MY MATZOH BALL SOUP
Are you sick? Come here....
About 3 carrots
4-5 celery stalks
Head of garlic
Medium onion
5 cans broth - chicken or veggie
A box of Matzoh Ball Mix (not Matzoh Mix, not Matzoh Ball Soup Mix)
Cayenne Pepper
Oil
Eggs
Follow package instructions for making matzoh balls - you just add egg and oil to a packet of mix, stir well with a fork, and refrigerate for 15 minutes.
Meanwhile, saute chopped carrots, celery, onion, and LOADS of garlic in a splash of broth, until cooked. Add the rest of all the broth and bring to a boil. By now the matzoh ball mix should be ready - roll the mix into little balls (I do ping-pong size) and drop them into the broth once it's boiling (your hands will be very greasy). Cover and cook I believe 15-20 minutes, lightly stirring occasionally.
Remove from heat and add salt and pepper and cayenne. Taste. Can you feel it? Then add more cayenne. Keep adding cayenne until you feel it when you exhale. The cayenne cools your blood, which makes it an excellent ingredient for this soup. It's cleansing, healthy, and warm, and it brings great results.
Sorry the link was poopy....
That sounds bad. I remember the sensory deprivation when my sense of smell went away and for some reason it always made me later than I usually was. Head in cotton and that drives you insane. I have a few friends who lost their sense of smell in car accidents. Just as you'd expect I was always forgetting and asking them to smell things, talking about smells, etc.
I hope your sense of smell comes back...but if it doesn't, you might get to experience a bit of the indignation of the handicapped and won't that be fun.
OK, Fodor's REALLY needs this added to their "Hawaii" edition. Seriously. Give 'em a call.
i'm still recovering from the image of a maxipad and a wicked weasel, and now this? but i do sympathise. i think there's nothing worse than being sick on vaca, and you've reinforced my belief.
No, really, it was okay, I just stayed in bed. Nothing to clean up, nobody to entertain.
Hate to tell you Mrs. K, but after one such bout with a sinus infection, I have still not got my sense of smell back. It has been 1.5 years now. I wish you luck!
Being sick while on vacation is such an unbelievably shitty experience. I vividly remember lying on the tile floor of a motel room in Spain with the flu while my female travelling companions abandoned me to sunbathe topless on the beach. Bastards.
Thank god for husbands who promised to take care of us no matter what! Hope your sniffer is in working order shortly.
I once had a doctor who looked like Kevin Spacey. And, in Italy, I had a doctor who looked like a young Marcello Mastroianni. Certainly makes a vacation yeast infection more fun.
Feel better soon.
We should all be so lucky as to spend our sick days in a hotel with room service and quality linens! :)
You edge seems sharp as ever. I hope delight makes a speedy return along with your sense of smell...
Not to make everything about YOGA, but! I also just lost my sense of taste and smell due to a sinus infection. After reading in the comments here that smells might never come back, I ran to google in a hypochondriac panic and discovered that sense of smell comes from high up in the nose. This was the first time I'd ever slogged through my yoga practice w/a sinus infection AND the first time I've ever lost taste/smell - maybe you can just down-dog too much snot up there?
On a happy note, I went on augmenten and today could taste food for the first time in 2 weeks, so there's hope, Mrs. K! Hang in there.
(So no, it's not all about dog farts. Some of it is about snot.)
No one has said anything about your husband being Speedo-clad yet? We need photos.
I'd go with collecting garbage or feeding pigs. You don't want to have to deal with women in the throes of Christmas shopping.
My understanding is that taste is in fact only salty, sweet, sour, and bitter -- the rest is actually all smell.
Best wishes for a speedy and full recovery.
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