When I was talking on the phone to a good friend during the week, she relayed a story about a family member’s experience with COVID-19.

Of course, our conversations these days always include inquiries on what is occupying our time, check-ins on our physical and mental health, and news of the health crisis hitting close to home.

All the time, one can see TV news graphics depicting geographic distribution of COVID cases, hot spots, and still not feel involved in the continuing story of our country’s public health failure until someone we know personally has had to survive their bout with the virus.

My friend recounted how someone in her daughter-in-law’s family realized they were likely infected when a child in their household broke a small bottle of perfume, and she could not smell it.

I’ve had good and bad experiences with perfume. A much loved college roommate always applied a dab of Shalimar to the back of her wrist. I knew when she was returning to our dorm room from her cafeteria job or evening at the Downtown Lounge because her scent preceded her.

I’ve also gotten nauseas when sharing even a short trip in an elevator with a woman too generously doused with Jungle Gardenia.

My friend explained that the fragrance was not detected at all, adding how that was hard for her to imagine, knowing how strong a perfume’s scent can be.  Eventually everyone in the household had the virus, each person’s case involved a different level of severity.

I had to think about this; what losing my sense of smell would mean in terms of my experience of life and also what attuning and trusting my sense of smell might mean in terms of supporting my own health.

When I was married (now, so many years ago), I had a running argument with my husband over the aroma of coffee. He believed that people were only drawn to the smell because they associated breathing it in with the a caffeine-induced alert sort of “high” it produced.

I purely loved the scent on its own, from stovetop espresso prepared in a 3-cup Alessi device to mocha ice cream from a boutique creamery.  Even now, while I don’t drink coffee at all, I love the earthy, slightly burnt scent of freshly roasted or just brewed coffee.

There are many articles about scents that make women more attractive to men. Fueling the idea that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, favorite scents include edibles like pumpkin spice, cinnamon, apple, citrus, peppermint, and chocolate. And what home seller has not been recommended to infuse their home with vanilla before an open house?

Don’t you wish you could bottle that new car smell, that mixture of faux leather and plastic sealants?  It intoxicates. It numbs the brain as a person eagerly assumes debt.

And who can walk past freshly made popcorn without wanting some; whether its aroma wafts through the concession area of your local Cineplex or flows over rows of fabric-paneled cubicles from the break room where a co-worker has just microwaved a bag?

I know that odors can also be warnings. You can identify a gas leak based on smell. When I was a kid, I remember my mother checking food items that had been in the fridge too long.  She’d make a sour face when walking a plastic baggie of the item to the garbage or pouring the dregs of a milk carton down the drain while running cold water.

But this awareness — of using the absence of smell to detect a possible health issue — this is new for me.

A reminder not to take this sense for granted?

My friend’s story and my own contemplation on the joy of sniffing pushed me into thinking that there is something else.

Paying attention to something subtle can be very important in self-care. Taking personal responsibility for your health, in any situation, starts by noticing when you’re experiencing something that’s not typical for you.

Being able to notice the special scent of organic acids that are unleashed in roasted coffee means…

You’re likely free of the COVID virus, at least, for now.

More than ever, waking up and being able to smell the coffee is no small thing.