Flat as a pancake. Or a Pop Tart.

When I first understood that I would spend the first 28 days of the new year burning off my face I was somewhat hesitant but figured, “What the hell, it needs to be done so why not just do it?” Um, yes. What I didn’t really take into consideration to the fullest extent was how much of an interruption the process would be to my wee, day to day existence. Truly, it has been a small slice of hell. And really? I have spent the better part of the last 19 months trying to eliminate the hot burning flames of hell from licking at my psyche on a daily basis. Burning the early stages of cancer from my face has hurt, made me feel like a leper and prompted me to eat all sorts of things bad for my curly girl figure. There was a point where for over two weeks I couldn’t open my mouth more than about two centimeters. This meant that anything I ingested had to be flat and easy to chew since the insides of my mouth had sloughed off, leaving raw, open skin in the wake. And what is better in the most flattest of states than Pop Tarts. Yummy. Yes, I have lived on a diet off luke warm, cream based soups and Pop Tarts for the last few weeks. Not good.
Tuesday I returned to hot yoga for the first time in weeks. I couldn’t make it in December due to my merciless work schedule and January has been off limits because if I sweat the toxic creams into my eyes or nose the results would be brutal. I can handle having my inner cheeks be raw but no can do inside my nasal cavities or eyes. So on Tuesday as I endured over 90 minutes of 112 degree heat and sweat out weeks of PopTart lard, poisoned facial cream and the nightly glass or two of red wine, I thought I was going to die. It wouldn’t have been a peaceful end. Nay, I wanted to throw myself on the yoga studio floor, writhing in misery as my body detoxed from the badness of a crappy diet and several weeks of applying poison to my skin.
As I am on the down slide of the chemo like face treatment I have made the declaration to eliminate pop Tarts from my life, at least until I wear a pant size in the single digits. I have also started drinking fresh veggie juice with all sorts of added goodies like powdered wheat grass and kelp. It’s not nearly as satisfying as frosted breakfast tarts but I likely won’t want to die the next time I am in yoga.