Life In The Slow Lane...
My photo
San Diego, CA, United States
This is a commentary about the slow lane, about the slowing of time since I suffered a severe brain injury while skateboarding with my dog. This is a blog about recovery; about our '82 VW Westfalia. It's about writing, surfing, camping, married life, bleeding ulcers that make you feel old at 32; about family, friends, and my dog Artie; it's about cruising in fourth gear, getting passed by every car and learning to appreciate every second of it.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Forgetting Flatulence

I should start this post off with an apology. Some might find this funny, others might find it repulsive. My neuro-psychologist told me to keep a sense of humor about my condition. This is my attempt at following her advice.

Yesterday, I had a craving for burritos. I am surprised I still have cravings considering I don't can't taste. I walked Artie to the local burrito stand and ordered a chile relleno burrito and a breakfast burrito, no meat, extra beans. I ate the breakfast burrito as soon as I got home. And for lunch I had the other. I should say, one thing I've noticed since waking from the coma; my stomach can't handle the same things it used to. Having Mexican blood in me, one would think that eating beans and spicy food would be harmless. I ate the food hoping that I would return to normal.

Then came the evening. Aimee was on the couch working on her computer. I was on my big brown leather chair watching some lame television. I had gas and I let it out. I had been letting them out all day and couldn't smell them, forgetting I have no sense of smell. So I let a few rip on the chair. Next thing I know, Aimee is yelling under a pillow. She looks up and asks if it was me or Artie. I said I let a little one out earlier. She looked at me and told me I was disgusting. She looked like she was about to gag. I told her that I couldn't smell anything.

"Yeah, you can't smell. I know. That's disgusting."

And then I said it. What I think might be the funniest thing I've ever said.

"Yeah, not smelling really sucks. It's starting to bum me out. The hardest part about it, I miss the smell of my own farts."

Aimee ran out of the room to grab the can of Lysol. She came back to me laughing on the chair. She was still holding her breath.

"Cmon, it doesn't even smell. I can't smell a thing," I said. She wasn't ready to laugh. I's orders.


  1. seriously just as disgusting reading it as being there.

  2. I know how you feel. I lost my smell from zicam for almost 2 months. There is something cynically enjoyable about the aroma of a freshly baked bubble that I can't explain. Of course it has to come from your own oven and not that of another person. Seriously now, when I gained my sense of smell back, every smell to me, whether it was the smell of peels tearing as I pull it off the orange to just a good ripping of the ol fart. It was just good to have it back. Sorry aimee.