We had quite a hectic morning around here today. Between trying to stuff Hudson’s face with breakfast foods, making calls to my general practitioner, attempting to get myself and a toddler ready to get out the door in ten minutes — you get the idea.
Why the rush to get out the door and get to your doctor, you ask? Because yours truly seems to have come down with a very nasty condition. Now, before you google this, I want you to promise me not to click on images. If you do, those images will haunt you as you lay your head down on your pillow and close your eyes in anticipation of sweet sleep. Except sweet sleep won’t come. All you will see is polka-dotted human flesh.
So, trust me. No clicky on images in google.
I am actually kind of proud of myself because I correctly self-diagnosed my condition using this website. First thing I told my GP was, “In my professional opinion, I have pityriasis rosea.” “And, if I am correct, can I have my co-pay back?” — is what I wanted to say, but didn’t. She was very receptive to the idea of not only me diagnosing myself, but being correct.
While I was being carefully examined, my toddler decided to climb all over furniture, which resulted in him falling, splitting his lip and bleeding profusely. “Good thing we are at a doctor’s office,” is what I thought, but didn’t say. Ice was applied to his bludgeoned lip and then the doctor continued my exam. Big points to her for being so patient.
After scraping my flesh for a sample and further studying it under the microscope, it was determined that my condition is not contagious. Let me say that again — my condition is non-contagious. So, if you see me in public, please don’t be scared to stand next to me. Even if I really wanted to spread the love and Christmas cheer, I really couldn’t give this sh** to you.
The really sad thing is that there is really nothing that can be done for pityriasis rosea. It has to run its ugly, nasty, itchy course. Which brings me to the next really sad point — this rash can last for up to six weeks. Sometimes longer. Lord. I don’t think I can deal with that. Thankfully, it doesn’t spread to your face, but still. This is really depressing. Oh, and no one knows what causes it. It’s just one of those things that happens to you. I’d rather get a piece of coal in my stocking.
Anyway, commence pity party. I don’t think I’ll be getting out of my pajamas or my bed for a while. Merry Christmas, everyone!