I got a Chemical Peel and lived to tell about it.

So, I'm approaching 40. Last time I was at the doctor he mentioned how I could benefit from a chemical peel.
"We could knock off these precancerous age spots with a peel. Medium-depth," he said while he held a magnifying glass to my face with his penlight shining a beacon on all my facial shortcomings.
When, I wonder, did my spattering of freckles go from "cute angel kisses" to "precancerous age spots"??
My doctor, a realist who is more than happy to tell you how it is, also said it would even out my "fine" lines and wrinkles. Hmmmm. You mean, I could get something done for cosmetically vain reasons and then blame the need for it all on the "precancerous spots." Awesome! Count me in.
So...I did it. On Monday. I should've known by the doctor's pre-procedure briefing that this was a tad more serious than I had imagined.
"You probably won't want to leave the house for about a week," he said.
"Ok," I thought, "that's okay. I could unpack that last box."
"I'll have two nurses with me, one to neutralize the acid and the other to wipe your tears so they don't roll into the acid that's still on," he announces.
Now I'm thinking out loud.
"Do what? Tears? I'm going to cry? It hurts that bad?" I ask.
"Well," he explains, "not everyone cries but it does sting a little. Don't worry, I'll have another nurse holding the fan on your face to cool you down."
So now I'm thinking okay...he's a doctor and he has to say this stuff just in case.
Right?
"We rarely have patients who scar from this procedure," he went on.
"Uhhhhh....scarring," I'm using my inside voice again. My inner dialogue is getting more worrisome.
"Okay," I think, "he has to say that just like the people with Plavix have to tell you that you could die if you take it. No worries."
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When I laid down and he started smathering acid on my face while one nurse fanned and the other neutralized - I could only liken the experience to having a blow torch held to my face. It took longer than I thought and hurt worse than I had imagined.
"It'll be worth it," the nurses kept saying everytime I groaned.
"If you need something for pain later in the week, give me call," the doc said.
Great...I'm gonna hurt even more later?
What had I done to myself? The first day it felt like someone had put egg white on my face and let it dry. My face drew up and freckles that were underneath, rose to the top. It was like a bad, bad sunburn. The second day my face felt and looked like a dried creek bed. Then on day 3 the peeling started. Raw, tender freckle-less flesh shone from beneath the ravages of my acid baked dead skin. My kids were horrified. My son wouldn't kiss me good night.
"I don't want your skin to fall on me," he said.
Arianna was more sympathetic.
"Oh mommy," she said, "I love you anyway."
"Crud," said my husband. "Is that going to go away?"
I imagined how the lepers in the Bible felt. I thought of burn victims and how it's nearly psychologically impossible to leave the house when you don't look like everyone else.
I looked in the mirror and saw my biggest, darkest freckle losing it's battle to stay on my face. I peeled it off and threw it in the garbage.
My whole life I wanted that thing gone and now - it was, and suddenly, I wanted it back. Rob called me Freckles when we dated. What would he call me now?
Today I went back to the doctor. I am bright red, hurting - some has peeled, some has not. I can not envision ever looking normal again. I can't open my mouth or smile without some part of my face cracking open.
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I'm sorry - chunks of my face keep falling on the keyboard and I'm tired of backspacing.

"Come back Thursday so I can check on you. You're on schedule," said the doctor.
"I'm a little worried about the forehead not peeling yet. It's behind but it will catch up. And these red spots, let's put some Polysporin on those so they don't get infected. And let's make that appointment for Tuesday instead. I can tell you need some reassurance during this healing process," he said.
Ya think? I wonder what gave that away.
Was it me pointing at my face over and over and over saying "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?? WHERE IS YOUR LICENSE TO PRACTICE??? WHEN WILL I BE ABLE TO GO BACK OUT TO EAT? DO YOU REALIZE I'M HAVING TO COOK INSIDE MY HOUSE? DO YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS THIS FACE IS FOR MY FAMILY?"
I took pictures of myself for you but now I don't know if I want anyone to see them.
I look soooo bad - I don't want to scare you.
Here's one from the internet:

I sent the ones of me to my sisters...
"You're nuts," said one.
Stay tuned. I'll let you know the progress. sldk54765fh weona34565slk