Throat looks fine, ears fine, tongue fine, glands not swollen, listening to my breathing via stethoscope sounds fine. It’s just the rash, and my doctor is mildly puzzled.

“Well, it’s probably contact allergy to a buildup of fabric softener or something. It could be a scarlet fever rash, although without any of the other symptoms I very much doubt it. But to be thorough, I’m sending you for a strep culture anyway.” She writes the order for the test, then a provisional scrip for penicillin just in case it’s positive, and orders for tests for both HRH and the boy to be done on Friday, also just in case mine is positive.

After waiting a ridiculously long time at the empty lab, they do the swab (which triggers a horrible coughing fit). The lab technician comes out of the test room and says, as if surprised, “It’s positive.”

Strep! Scarlet fever! Yay! (As Erin said, “Very retro sickness to get. Forget new-fangled swine flu!”)

I bet that everyone I was supposed to see this weekend is very glad I cancelled.

At least I know what’s wrong with me. And in two days I will no longer be infectious, the boys can get their tests done to make sure they’re not infected, and all will be well for Christmas. I had scarlet fever when I was about ten, so I’m not worried. Thing is, we have no idea where I could have picked this up. I’m home all the time, for goodness’ sake. And apart from the rash (which looks a bit odd but doesn’t hurt) and the dry throat (which is annoying but not awful) I feel fine. So now I get to take penicillin. I don’t even remember the last time I took penicillin; probably about eighteen years ago.

In other news, the assignment I handed in yesterday was approved and, I am told, was very well-handled.