The longest-lasting and possibly permanent damage as a result of my recent tumble (besides a possibility of high-risk pregnancy and dangerously high intracranial brain pressure during birth) is this thing called anosmia.
Anosmia is the complete loss of the sense of smell which subsequently causes a near-total loss of the sense of taste, because our tongues are only able to detect four things: salty, sweet, sour and bitter.
What this means for me is that everything is fucking WEIRD. I can't smell anything. I can't taste anything. I can feel food, but that's not exactly what I'd consider necessary for excellent holiday noshing. In the afternoons I'll think, "Hmmm what should I make for dinner?" and the answer is always, "Who fucking cares, I could drink tap water sprinkled with sea salt and it's going to be the same experience as the finest chowder in the universe" because FUUUUUCK. I can't taste anything.
This anosmia is also a detriment to my cooking skills because I refuse to follow recipes. I prefer to add "dashes" of shit and then taste it to be sure I'm comfortable feeding my concoction to another person (who didn't come to me with a death wish). Garlic used to be my closest friend. I kept a clove in my pillow and whispered my secrets to it every night. Sometimes I used it when my vibrator battery died and I didn't have a replacement.
Now I'm terrified of garlic because is it too much? Too little? What if I drop a piece on the floor and don't notice when I'm cleaning up because I don't smell the lingering garlic, what if my dog eats it and DIES?
Does my sauce need more salt? You'd think I could figure that out since salt is one of the things I can detect, but unfortunately because it's ALL I can detect, I nearly threw out a pot of cooked spaghetti because it seemed so salty I thought I was hallucinating Hawaii again. It was perfectly good, not overly-salty spaghetti, I've just lost my ability to taste what others around me are tasting.
I don't have kids yet, but when I do, my method of detecting a poopy pant will either be constant diaper checks or it will be shit-squirting alerts. I may never bake my own bread again. What's the point?
WILL I NEVER SMELL A BABY'S HEAD AGAIN?!?!?!
There are other, slightly more dangerous problems with anosmia, like the inability to detect gas leaks in your home, spoiled food in your fridge and giant turds in your toilet. That aren't yours. Smoke in your house or neighborhood. Many people end up over-eating to compensate for a lack of food-related enjoyment while others stop eating because, again, what's the fucking point? Loss of libido, depression, all kinds of crap has been blamed on the disorder as well.
On the up-side, because you know I'm such an optimist, there's the fact that blow jobs will now be odorless, I can sit next to my husband and we can both fart away without my noticing any consequence (I just chalk the look on his face up to that awful Mountain Dew shit he drinks) I may some day be able to eat sea food without being reminded of diseased genitalia.
Oh, and alcohol QUALITY hardly seems important now.