I could see it in the doctor's eyes as he wondered what symptoms had brought us in.
I was wasting his time.
No fever? No sore throat? No runny nose?
No. No. Um, no.
I was worried about the rash-y skin.
But up until the moment I decided I couldn't wait until Monday to call their regular doctor, I had been holding off, applying cream and hoping for spontaneous healing.
Winter skin. Chapped, dry, over-licked, eczema skin.
It's just a rash, I tell myself. The little voice in my head, though, the one that listens to pharmaceutical ads as if they were horror movies come to life, clucks at my rational self and starts tossing words around like streptococci and Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus … more commonly known as MRSA.
Don't jump to conclusions, I tell myself. You always jump to the worst-possible-scenario.
It's just my natural response ever since pharmaceutical companies started to cast their nets for potential patients, turning every ache or pain into the the beginning of the end. Even if you would rather have the disease than the cure, you listen unblinkingly to the laundry list of potential side effects that have rarely, though sometimes, been associated with the unpronounceable chemical cure.
I tend to switch channels as fast as I can so I don't end up calling the doctor to see if I shouldn't be taking something for whatever dysfunction their selling.
But having lunch with parents from Ittybit's class, who casually noted this was the year of symptom-less streptococci infection, I started thinking. …
She's in their classes …
Been on play dates.
She had a fever when all their kids were coming down with strep.
She had a headache.
I worried about it a little at the time. But it went away.
And then I didn't worry about it. There had been no sore throat. No excessive coughing. No lethargy or listlessness. The kids were their usual selves.
98.6 degrees of normal.
I never said anything to my friends they recited a commercial-sized list of symptoms that can be overlooked, I just listened with wide eyes.
It's just unusual, they said. They don't always exhibit classic symptoms. They sometimes get rashes. Strange coloring on their faces. Sometimes nothing at all. …
Which lead me to obsessing …
Which then lead to Googling …
Which ultimately lead to a Sunday morning visit to an Urgent Care.
It's just a simple swab to put my mind at ease, I tell myself.
Funny, though It doesn't put my mind at ease.
It just proves the instincts I thought came with the job are nowhere to be found.
Worry for nothing, and the waste of a perfectly good afternoon. The kids are starving and tired, and look at me with faces that could have done so many other things beside play Angry Birds and wait.