Feeling the burn

So, I made chocolate chip cookies over the weekend (side note: substituting honey for brown sugar was a yummy, chewy success!) and burned the shit out of my right hand. Back of the hand, really, and yes, I need to invest in some oven mitts.

In the meantime, I've gotten good at dashing to the sink and letting the cold water run over my injuries. Following Internet medical advice, after the cooling rinse I applied some lotion, and was pleased to notice that the rather large patch of mottled red and purple on the backside of my wrist did not seem inclined to blister.

Fast forward a few days. The burn seems to be healing, and is so painless that I forget about it until 5:45 a.m. when I'm getting dressed for Bikram practice. I glance at the wrist and remember how much sunburn aches in the hot room, but decide my need for the yoga outweighs my fear of the burn.

I won't say it was a bad decision, because I was really overdue for a class, but I will say that baking my burn in 100+ degree heat for ninety minutes did not exactly do it good. Midway through class, the burn started to hurt rather than tingle, and I saw that blisters were beginning to form. I considered leaving the room, but...well, you're not supposed to do that, and in sixteen months of consistent practice I've never bailed early, no matter how tempted I've been. That's part of the yoga—dismissing your anxieties and accepting your present condition—and I knew my hand wasn't going to, like, blow up.

Not exactly. No, instead, there's just a huge bulbous blister where before there was none. I don't know enough about burn science to assess whether this is a setback or an improvement—because the formerly purple skin is now a lighter red, which does seem to indicate a sort of healing. But I know enough about common sense to apply a bandage and let the blister do its thing...hopefully before Thursday, when it's time for more yoga.