It is often said that the sense of smell can be the most effective for memory recall. This is attributed to the fact that all the other senses translate a signal which is then interpreted by the brain, whereas the olfactory cells react directly to molecules that they are in direct contact with, and as such the pathways are more direct-you are in touch with what you can smell, if you like.
Also, the reason that you no longer notice a smell after a while is that the cells actually get burned out, which is why olfactory cells are replenished frequently. This is why these cells are seen as a useful area of research in stem cell therapies, especially as the cells could be taken from the olfactory areas of the recipient themselves, thus avoiding any issues of cell rejection.
My point? Well, this morning I made the decision to jettison a bottle of aftershave from the back of the bathroom cabinet because, even after four years, the smell of it transports me back to the spinal unit, and my rehab. Not transported in an 'ah, I remember' kind of way, but more a lurching feeling in the pit of my stomach, something akin to a mild panic attack as I reconnect with a terrifying period in my life when I was stuck in bed and the idea of ever getting up again seemed inconceivable, and shaving every other day became really important in maintaining a hold on my body and my previous life (in which I rarely shaved every other day).
The use of aftershave helped to mask the, erm, day to day smell of the spinal ward, as well as being a luxury, an unnecessary and therefore very necessary frippery.
The two conclusions I reached this morning were:
a) I didn't really need to be reminded so viscerally of my time up at Stoke Mandeville,
and:
b) At any given time in my life, I am probably much closer to that time (and a sense of my mortality) than I find it comfortable to acknowledge.
As many of my fellow SCI-ers will tell you, in order to function on a day to day basis we build up a protective layer of self-belief that we are getting on with things and that our lives haven't changed that much, and that anything's possible, even in a wheelchair, and walking's overrated, etc.
But it only takes one really bad day, or a health setback, or a visit from Spike (or his equivalent) for the full reality to come storming back to centre stage demanding our full attention. And I ceratinly don't need to keep an invitation bottled and waiting in the bathroom cabinet...
Also, the reason that you no longer notice a smell after a while is that the cells actually get burned out, which is why olfactory cells are replenished frequently. This is why these cells are seen as a useful area of research in stem cell therapies, especially as the cells could be taken from the olfactory areas of the recipient themselves, thus avoiding any issues of cell rejection.
My point? Well, this morning I made the decision to jettison a bottle of aftershave from the back of the bathroom cabinet because, even after four years, the smell of it transports me back to the spinal unit, and my rehab. Not transported in an 'ah, I remember' kind of way, but more a lurching feeling in the pit of my stomach, something akin to a mild panic attack as I reconnect with a terrifying period in my life when I was stuck in bed and the idea of ever getting up again seemed inconceivable, and shaving every other day became really important in maintaining a hold on my body and my previous life (in which I rarely shaved every other day).
The use of aftershave helped to mask the, erm, day to day smell of the spinal ward, as well as being a luxury, an unnecessary and therefore very necessary frippery.
The two conclusions I reached this morning were:
a) I didn't really need to be reminded so viscerally of my time up at Stoke Mandeville,
and:
b) At any given time in my life, I am probably much closer to that time (and a sense of my mortality) than I find it comfortable to acknowledge.
As many of my fellow SCI-ers will tell you, in order to function on a day to day basis we build up a protective layer of self-belief that we are getting on with things and that our lives haven't changed that much, and that anything's possible, even in a wheelchair, and walking's overrated, etc.
But it only takes one really bad day, or a health setback, or a visit from Spike (or his equivalent) for the full reality to come storming back to centre stage demanding our full attention. And I ceratinly don't need to keep an invitation bottled and waiting in the bathroom cabinet...
Leave a comment