“What do you mean you can’t smell that bushel of lavender? It’s right under your nose Kathryn.” That was when I knew that things were always going to be a little different for me.

My freshman year of high school, I began to notice that flowers and food weren’t quite as vibrant as they used to be. My friends would mention light smells in the hallway, but I wouldn't understand what they were talking about. My parents and I brushed it off as a lasting side effect of a cold and didn’t really ever think about it. However, it didn’t get better. I stopped smelling the pasta my mom was cooking as it wafted up from the kitchen through our loft into my room. Then I couldn’t smell the bushel of lavender under my nose.

I went to a variety of Ear, Nose, and Throat (ENT) doctors and was put on every single drug approved by the FDA that could possibly help me get my smell and taste back. After months and months, nothing worked. Then, I had a nasal reconstructive surgery. The ENT doctor removed multiple layers of tissue from my nose in hopes of clearing the path to my olfactory nerves, but that didn’t work either.

People constantly tell me I am over exaggerating when I talk about the emotional toll that losing my senses of smell and taste has taken on me. However, it is generally accepted that humans can detect around 10,000 scents. The senses of smell and taste also hold special significance in memory making. As you know, certain smells can take you back to your childhood or meaningful times in your life. However, you also inadvertently learn the natural smells of those you love. Imagine never getting to smell the person you love when you’re snuggled up into their neck. It’s the little things like that that take a toll on those of us without a sense of smell.

Going into my senior year of high school I had a string of incidences where I was passing out at concerts. It wasn’t until nearly a month in that I realized something else was wrong. I went to the doctor and had a variety of tests performed, which eventually concluded in an EEG that determined I have a condition called a photo-induced syncope, which basically means I pass out around certain types and frequencies of lights. Many of those frequencies happen to occur during one of my favorite hobbies: concerts.

I spent many months feeling sorry for myself. I constantly was asking God “Why me?” and “Why this burden?” I know so many people that have no relationship with God or that outright reject Him. Why couldn’t this happen to them? But that’s no way to think.

I have had to learn, as many others with a disability, that you have to learn to find the good in your struggles. I could spend my time sulking about the fact that I can no longer attend concerts and movies, or I can be thankful that I can see as many as things as I can. I would constantly be upset when people ask me to smell or taste things, or I could be thankful for the three senses I still have.

I cannot speak for everyone with a disability, but I would not say that my disability had made me less of a person. I would even venture so far as to say that my disability has made me more of a person than I was before. I now appreciate the gifts I have been given more than I previously would have because I understand how quickly your physical and mental gifts can be taken away. I would not go back in time and prevent my loss of smell and taste or my syncope. My unique disabilities are now an integral part of me, and I take pride in educating others about them.