Less than an hour to fly from Lima to Cusco. From sea level to over 11,000 feet. When we stepped off the plane, my head was spinning. My legs were heavy and I had difficulty walking. It was as though the air was thick, and I couldn’t quite make my way through it. Our guide picked us up and told us we would make our way to The Sacred Valley, enjoying a few stops along the way. 

At the first stop I continued having difficulty walking, and had to stop to rest several times. They offered us coka tea, which we readily accepted. At the second stop, the guide asked us if we wanted to walk further. I was still spinning. We gave each other furtive glances, and shook our heads in unison. 

We arrived to our hotel in The Sacred Valley, 3,000 feet lower than Cusco. My head wasn’t spinning anymore, though I was tired. I slept well, and erroneously assumed I had licked altitude sickness. Oh, the hubris. 

After exploring Machu Picchu, our guide drove us back to Cusco. We were exhausted. We’d been up since 4:30 am, hiked the majority of the day, and arrived to our hotel around 8:30 pm. We showered and went straight to bed. 

I woke up around 5:30 am, struggling to breathe. My head felt like it was going to explode, like someone was enthusiastically beating a timpani drum inside of it. I was shaking and shivering uncontrollably, while simultaneously feeling like I was on fire. My travel partner asked me if I was okay. I eked out a  weak “no….” before tumbling out of bed to the bathroom, violently throwing up. 

I laid on the cold bathroom tiles, unable to get up. I eventually crawled back to bed, groaning. I thought to myself that I’ve lived a good life, although thus wouldn’t be my preferred way to die. It seemed like it would be long and drawn out process. 

She said the hotel was bringing oxygen and I would feel better immediately. I didn’t believe her. She said she was a mom and knew what to do in these situations.   

There was a knock at the door, and a man entered with an oxygen tank. In a calming voice, he instructed me to relax, and to try to breathe normally. He placed a plastic tube in my nostrils, and wrapped it around my ears before hooking it to the oxygen tank. He told me to relax and he’d return in 15 minutes. 

I laid as still as I could, though my body continued to convulse, breathing as normally as I could, although I still gulped for air, my eyes closed and doubting this would help. 

After five minutes I stopped shivering. After ten minutes my breathing was becoming regulated. He returned after fifteen minutes and said I could use more time. I continued to breathe pure oxygen, feeling better with each breath.

He was satisfied with my progress upon his return, and advised me to rest and take it easy. As much as it pained me to stay in bed while in a new city, I heeded his advice. As I laid there, I marveled at the human body and the balance of input and output. Why had I experienced altitude sickness, and my travel partner had not? How had minutes of oxygen restored my well-being? Where was the line between my body functioning normally and not?