A sweet story with a crunchy ending

This spring was a soggy one in southwestern Ontario, and nobody loves the damp more than big, black carpenter ants.

An army of them invaded our house, so I spent a couple weeks stepping, stomping, and trying to poison the little monsters. They were everywhere, but mostly, they loved our kitchen. The compost, garbage, and dropped crumbs were irresistible. Every night before I went to bed, I had to ensure that the kitchen counters were spotless and that I’d swept the floor; otherwise, the morning would bring even more ants.

I lost my sense of smell years ago, even before my diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease in 2015. At first, it was intermittent; smells would come and go, but that never bugged me too much. Now that sense is completely gone, taking my sense of taste with it. They held hands and skipped off into the sunset together, leaving me with a memory of how things should smell and taste, but no real sense of how they actually do.

The one exception is sweet. I still love my sweets. Toast with jam, chocolate anything, cinnamon buns? Bring ’em on! My all-time favorite is ice cream, however.

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Before 2019, we used to eat ice cream frequently. Then, my husband, John, had a heart attack, and we stopped eating it altogether. Now we have it just a few times a year. Usually, one of my daughters will bring it over, but typically, I make them take the extra home because who needs that ticking time bomb of temptation sitting right there in the freezer? I admit it: We are weak!

A few weeks ago, my daughter left a tantalizing tub of ice cream in our freezer instead of taking it home. It haunted us. Finally, one night after supper, I couldn’t take it any longer, and I served my husband and myself the ice cream for dessert. It was moose tracks, a creamy vanilla base with a sinfully rich chocolate fudge swirl and crunchy, mini peanut butter cups. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

When I was cleaning up the kitchen afterward, there was a tiny bit of ice cream left at the bottom of the container, about a teaspoon’s worth that had melted. That sweet cream called my name, so I got a spoon and scooped out the delicious nectar.

Yum! And what was that? A crunchy bit of chocolate? Crunching down, I thought, “Nope, not chocolate.” Another crunch and I decided it must be a piece of cardboard or plastic packaging that had gotten in there by mistake, definitely not chocolate. So I reached into my mouth and pulled out not a random piece of packaging but a big, black, chomped-on ant!

Oh yeah. It took quite a bit of mouthwash to eliminate that sensation. On the bright side, I didn’t taste a thing, thanks to Parkinson’s!

Note: Parkinson’s News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Parkinson’s News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Parkinson’s disease.