Parkinson’s Made Me a Liar
“Does this smell good to you?“ This is always asked by someone waving under my nose a container of leftovers that has been in the refrigerator a suspiciously unspecified amount of time. The question always scares me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it is way too much pressure. If I say “yes“ and we end up with food poisoning, it is all my fault. Secondly, I can’t smell stuff anymore. Anosmia is the loss of the sense of smell. It is also called “smell blindness.“ Ninety-six percent of people newly diagnosed with Parkinson’s have some loss of smell. Mine started to fade many years before my diagnosis, and it made a liar out of me.
I’m not saying I’ve never lied before, or since. Most of my lies are little ones I tell to make other people feel better about themselves or their circumstances. As in, “You’re not behind the times, flip-phones are making a comeback…” I am not a chronic liar except when it comes to smell. It is tiresome for me to constantly be saying, “I don’t know, I can’t smell…blah, blah, blah…Parkinson’s.” It is even more tiresome for others to have to hear more about my Parkinson’s when all they really want to know is if the leftover tuna casserole is safe to eat or the previously opened wine is drinkable. So now I answer with half truths like, “It doesn’t smell bad to me,” or, “It smells the same as the day I opened it.”
Recently, my lying about smells got out of hand. I was working at a local wine bar. The clientele were very knowledgable about wines. In order to prepare their brains for wine they are about to taste (seriously!) they will sniff the wine in their glass. While I was smelling the inside of my nose, they reported smelling cherries, citrus and pencil shavings (it’s true, look it up!). Wanting to fit in, I continued to sniff the wines. Blind to the bouquet, but preparing my brain, I rationalized. As I got to know the regulars, some found out I had Parkinson’s. A few learned I could not smell as a result. One afternoon they called me out at a crowded tasting. At first the unknowing patrons felt a bit betrayed. Then they laughed at me. And then no one cared because I kept pouring. No lie.
