Bad weekend around here: my 7-yea-old, Suzanne, was walking around with a hollow cough that made her sound like Tallulah Bankhead after a weekend bender, so it was off to the doctor and then to the drugstore for a round of antibiotics. On Friday night (these things always happen on weekends) she sprouted a weird, vividly red rash on her butt. Thinking she is having an allergic reaction to the amoxycillin, I call the on-call physician, who says yeah, that's probably what it is, and prescribes a new antibiotic.....which we forgot to get on Saturday, since by then she was already feeling better.
Then, on Sunday, the rash spreads, she develops a wicked earache and my husband and I look at each other and go, Hey, why didn't you go pick up that prescription?? Because, of course, the only way to deal with something like this is to immediately blame your spouse. Anyway, back to the store, new antibiotic, but the rash persists. So yesterday, once again, we are hauling up the road to the pediatrician. This time, the doctor looks at Suzanne's butt and says, "Well, her ear is already better and I can't hear anything in her chest."
"So what about the rash?" I say.
"Don't know what it is," the doctor says. "But it's getting better, so don't worry about it. Sometimes we never figure these things out." And she ruled out lethal staph infections and ringworm and bedbugs.
Back in the car, headed this time to school, Suzanne sighs happily. "I can't wait to get to class!" she says. "When I tell everybody all about my rash I am going to be soooo popular!"