Then—a crack. Not in my head, but of my head. A sharp, bright, crystalline pop that echoed off the inside of my skull.
I pressed my palms against my ears, a futile physical protest. A man across the aisle was calmly watching a comedy, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. I envied his ignorance. I closed my eyes and saw a diagram from a doctor’s office: the angry red of inflamed mucosa, the Eustachian tube swollen shut like a bruised straw. I tried the Valsalva maneuver—pinch your nose, close your mouth, gently exhale. It’s supposed to pop the lock. For me, it was like pushing a marshmallow against a brick wall. flying with barotrauma
The cabin pressure began its slow, algorithmic climb as the plane pushed back from the gate. For the 150 other passengers, this was a quiet prelude to sleep. For me, it was the tightening of a vise. Then—a crack