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14 Rashes You Need to Know: Common Dermatologic Diagnoses

If you woke up one morning and discovered that a rash has appeared on your skin, it’s understandable to be concerned. Skin conditions are very common. Don’t let embarrassment or anxiety about a diagnosis prevent you from seeking the medical attention you need.

You can bring your skin concerns to your family doctor or find a board-certified dermatologist near you.

Keep reading to learn more about some of the most common causes of skin rashes.

1. Shingles (Herpes zoster)

Shingles is most common among people 50 years of age or older. Symptoms commonly include a stripe of painful blisters on one side of the torso. The blisters are red, fluid-filled, itchy, and sensitive to touch. They often break open and crust over. (1)

Treatment for shingles involves minimizing pain and discomfort and preventing complications, however, there is no known cure. The chickenpox (Varivax) or shingles (Shingrix) vaccine is so far the only known effective way to help prevent shingles. (1)

2. Herpes simplex virus (HSV)

HSV can cause pain, itching and small red or white sores around the mouth (cold sore) or genital areas. When blisters rupture, ulcers or scabs may form. However, some people with HSV don’t experience any symptoms.

There is no known cure for HSV, however, your doctor may prescribe antiviral medications to help manage symptoms. (2)

3. Body Ringworm (Tinea corporis)

Ringworm of the body is characterized by pinkish red, round patches with raised scaly borders. The skin patches tend to be colorless in the center, and are itchy. (3)

Treatments include antifungal creams and/or pills.

4. Chickenpox (Varicella-zoster virus)

Chickenpox is most common among children (although the virus remains in your body and can reappear as shingles later in life).

A chickenpox rash is characterized by small, flat, red spots that soon become raised and itchy blisters. Most commonly, the chickenpox rash begins on the face and chest. (4)

After about 5 days of new spots spreading all over the body, the rash typically begins to crust and subside. Chickenpox usually runs its course within 20 days. (4)

Treatment for chickenpox involves addressing uncomfortable symptoms, and in most cases, only requires home remedies or antihistamines. In some cases, an antibiotic is required to treat an infected blister. (4)

5. Molluscum contagiosum

A molluscum contagiosum rash is categorized by pink or white spherical lesions with a small dimple in the center. The bumps can appear anywhere on the skin except your palms or soles and are usually not painful or itchy. (5)

Molluscum contagiosum is common among children because it can be easily spread by contact, shared items, or even swimming pools. However, molluscum contagiosum around the genital region is common among adults and is typically treated right away. Otherwise, the bumps are left to disappear on their own within two or three years. (5)

6. Hand foot and mouth disease (HFMD)

HFMD symptoms include red blisters that develop on the tongue, gums, inside of the cheeks, and (of course, given the name) the palms and soles. The rash can be painful, but not itchy. Hand foot and mouth disease is most common among young children.

Treatment is usually unnecessary, however medical attention is required if the rash prevents your child from ingesting fluids or if symptoms worsen after a few days. (6)

7. Fifth Disease (Erythema infectiosum)

Fifth disease symptoms begin with a low fever and cold-like symptoms which are followed by a rash after a few days. The red rash usually starts on the face (known as “slapped-cheek) before eventually spreading to the torso and limbs. After a few days, the rash takes on a lacy appearance and can be itchy. (7)

Fifth disease is common among young children and is not typically a serious condition. It resolves on its own within three weeks. (7)

8. Pityriasis Rosea

Pityriasis rosea is a common skin condition that usually goes away on its own within a couple of months. It’s characterized by small scaly patches of skin that can vary from pink to red or dark brown. (8)

Usually, a “mother” patch will show up first, followed by smaller clusters of “daughter” patches. (8) In some cases, a dermatologist will prescribe anti-itch creams.

9. Scalp Ringworm (Tinea capitis)

Tinea capitis is a fungal infection of the scalp, eyebrows, and eyelashes. Symptoms include a dry, itchy, scaly rash and/or some localized hair loss. Depending on the type of fungus, hair can break off at the scalp surface or just above the surface. Sometimes, tinea capitis is mistaken for dandruff. (9)

10. Intertrigo

Intertrigo is irritation of the skin where two surfaces rub together. Common areas include under breasts or between folds in the stomach. People who tend to sweat a lot and people with high body fat percentages have a higher risk of intertrigo. (10)

Symptoms include redness, itchiness or irritation. Dermatologists might treat symptoms with skin-drying agents, antifungals, or antibacterial creams. (10)

11. Cellulitis

Cellulitis is a painful skin infection that can become serious if not properly treated. Caused by a staph infection, some forms of cellulitis are difficult to treat because of antibiotic resistance.

Symptoms of cellulitis include redness, swelling, pain, and skin that is warm to the touch. Cellulitis can sometimes develop into blisters with yellow fluid and is sometimes accompanied by swollen lymph nodes and a fever. (11)

It is important to seek medical attention immediately if you suspect cellulitis because left untreated, it can cause sepsis.

12. Impetigo

A common skin condition among young children, impetigo is characterized by clusters of small itchy blisters that rupture and develop a yellow crust. Impetigo is very contagious and can spread from one area to another or from one person to another. It can be difficult to prevent small children from scratching at their sores, which makes the spreading worse. (12)

Impetigo is typically treated at home by gently washing the area several times a day with warm soapy water. In some cases, a dermatologist will prescribe antibiotic creams to prevent recurring infections. (12)

13. Erysipelas

Erysipelas causes a painful raised patch on the skin. The affected area is red, firm, and warm to the touch. Erysipelas occurs most often on the face and feet. (13)

A doctor will typically prescribe an antibiotic such as penicillin to treat erysipelas.

14. Folliculitis (S. aureus)

Folliculitis is inflammation of the hair follicle. It’s usually caused by either a bacterial infection (such as from swimming in a hot tub) or from an ingrown hair. Folliculitis is characterized by small, itchy, pimple-like lesions at the base of a hair strand.

Prince Philip Had A Horrible Nickname For Meghan Markle

It doesn’t matter what family we happen to be in, there are likely to be secrets. Some of those secrets will go to the grave and others are eventually repealed, often to the horror of other family members.

Family secrets are normally something that happen to ordinary people, they also happen in royal families as well. This recently came to light after the death of the Duke of Edinburg, who died at the age of 99 in 2021.

Prince Philip apparently had a rather low opinion of Meghan Markle, and it wasn’t revealed publicly until a book was written that spoke about the royal family from an insider’s point of view.

That book, Mother And I, written by Ingrid Seward, was rather telling. Stuart knew her way around the Royal family, because she was the editor-in-chief of Majesty Magazine, as well as being a royal biographer. When it comes to writers in that royal family, she is one of the most respected.

According to a report about an excerpt from the book, the nickname that Prince Philip had for Meghan, who married into the royal family in 2018 was less than savory. He referred to her as the ‘Duchess of Windsor.’

In case you are unaware, that is a controversial title to hold because it was originally given to the American socialite, Wallis Simpson. It was quite scandalous when Wallace married into the royal family in 1937 after marrying Edward VIII, who was the uncle of Queen Elizabeth II.

This didn’t sit well with the Church of England or with Stanley Baldwin, who was the UK Prime Minister at the time. They had even asked that Simpson would not be accepted as Queen because she was a divorced woman.

Prince Philip had that perception and made the connection with Simpson. According to the biographer, he found it uncanny that she reminded him so much of Simpson. This is not only true physically, but in the situation as well.

Prior to marrying into the royal family, Markle was married in 2011 and divorced in 2014.

The book also showed that Queen Elizabeth II approved of Markle in 2017 when Prince Harry introduced them to each other. She did say that the dress she wore for her wedding was too white because of her previous marriage.

Other comparisons to the marriage with Simpson occurred when Harry and Meghan decided to step out of the limelight and move to California.

“Granny Pods” Now Allow Your Aging Parents to Live in Your Backyard

A growing number of American families are making a housing move that would have seemed unusual a generation ago: putting a small, fully furnished home in the backyard specifically for an aging parent. These compact structures, widely known as granny pods, are a type of accessory dwelling unit (ADU) – a self-contained living space built on the same residential property as a primary home. According to the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP), ADUs are rapidly becoming one of the most practical multigenerational housing solutions available to families navigating the competing demands of aging relatives, childcare, and housing affordability.

An ADU can take several forms. English basements, tiny homes, backyard cottages, in-law suites, carriage houses, casitas, and garage apartments are all names for accessory dwelling units, or ADUs – self-contained living spaces that typically share the property with a single-family residence and may be attached, detached, or incorporated seamlessly into the main home. When families build or place one of these units specifically to house an aging relative, it becomes what many people call a “granny pod” – a term that has gained mainstream recognition even though the technical classification remains ADU.

The concept is straightforward: instead of moving an aging parent into the main house (which can mean everyone sharing a kitchen and losing personal space) or into a formal care facility (which can cost a small fortune), families put up a private, age-friendly home right on the same lot. The older relative keeps their independence. The family stays close. And both sides retain their own front doors.

What an ADU for Aging Parents Actually Looks Like

Granny pods generally range from 250 to 900 square feet and include essential amenities such as a living area, bedroom, bathroom, and often a small kitchen. While they serve as independent living spaces, they are usually connected to the main house’s utilities, including water, electricity, and sewer systems.

If your private parts smell fishy, it’s something you should be aware of

Many women experience an occasional fishy odor coming from their intimate area, and while it can be uncomfortable, it’s not always a cause for concern. In some cases, the smell occurs without any clear reason and may resolve on its own with simple hygiene practices like changing into clean underwear after showering.

However, if the odor persists despite good hygiene or is accompanied by symptoms like itching, pain, or unusual discharge, it may indicate a medical issue. One of the most common causes is bacterial vaginosis (BV), a condition that arises when the natural balance of bacteria in the vagina is disrupted. BV symptoms typically include a thin gray or white discharge, itching, and a strong fishy odor, especially noticeable after sex. This condition requires antibiotics for proper treatment.

In some cases, a fishy or unpleasant odor may also result from poor hygiene, trapped sweat, or wearing tight clothing that doesn’t allow the area to breathe. Proper hygiene and breathable fabrics can usually address this issue.

Another possible cause is trichomoniasis, a sexually transmitted infection (STI) caused by a parasite. This condition also leads to an unpleasant odor and other symptoms but must be treated with prescribed medication—not home remedies.

An often overlooked cause is forgetting to remove a tampon, which can result in a strong, rotten smell. While sometimes mistaken for a fishy odor, this can be particularly intense and should be addressed promptly.

To help prevent vaginal odors, it’s important to maintain gentle hygiene by using warm water and mild soap on the external genital area, avoiding douching and scented products, wearing cotton underwear, and practicing safe sex. If symptoms persist, consulting a gynecologist is the best course of action to rule out infections or other health issues.

High School Senior Walks On Stage Holding Newborn Baby And Leaves The Entire Audience In Tears After Woman Mocks His Mother

The auditorium was a cavernous space of high-tension nerves and polished expectations, a room filled with the scent of celebratory lilies, expensive perfume, and the heavy, collective sigh of parents who believed they had finally reached the finish line. I sat in the third row, thirty-five years old and feeling every single day of it. My dress was a modest purchase, my shoes pinched my toes, and at my feet sat a diaper bag—a jarring, silent intruder in a space reserved for caps, gowns, and the unburdened dreams of eighteen-year-olds. For nearly two decades, my life had not been a series of milestones; it had been a relentless, exhausting exercise in survival.

I became a mother at seventeen. Adrian’s father, Caleb, didn’t provide a slow fade or a series of excuses; he simply evaporated. One morning the closet was a hollow shell, his phone line was a dead frequency, and every promise of a shared future had been retracted without a word. From that moment on, the world shrank down to just the two of us. Adrian grew up in the quiet, desperate gaps of my life—between the back-to-back double shifts at the diner, the red-inked foreclosure notices, and the whispered, tearful prayers over generic brand groceries. He was a quiet child, never demanding, but he was a keen observer of the cost of my devotion. He noticed when my plate was empty so his could be full. He heard the muffled sobs behind the bathroom door. He learned, early and intimately, exactly what it meant to stay when everything in the world was telling you to run.

By the time his senior year arrived, I allowed myself to believe we had navigated the worst of the storm. He was an honors student with a stack of scholarship offers and a future that actually looked stable. But as the spring semester progressed, the atmosphere in our small apartment shifted. Adrian started returning home in the late hours of the night. He took on grueling extra shifts at his part-time job and began keeping his phone face down on every surface. Some nights he looked paralyzed by a deep, existential terror; other nights, he possessed a haunting calm, like a man who had already accepted a heavy sentence.

Three nights before the graduation ceremony, he found me in the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, wringing the hem of his sleeve like he used to do when he was five. He asked me to listen to everything before I decided how disappointed I was. My heart plummeted, bracing for a disaster I couldn’t name. Then, the truth came out. He told me about Hannah. He told me about the pregnancy and the beautiful baby girl who had been born in a quiet hospital room less than two weeks prior. He confessed to the secret visits and the overwhelming fear, but most importantly, he spoke of a vow he had made to himself: he would never, under any circumstances, disappear the way his father had. He then asked the question that had been haunting him: “If I have to bring her to graduation, will you still stay?”

I didn’t sleep that night, nor was I prepared for the reality of the ceremony. The event began with the usual pomp and circumstance—the rhythmic drone of names, the polite applause, and the lofty speeches about the “limitless potential” of the youth. Then, Adrian stepped out of the processional line. He didn’t head for the stage; he walked straight toward me in the third row. “Mom,” he whispered, his eyes pleading as he reached out his arms. “Give her to me.”

My instincts took over. I reached into the carrier and placed the tiny, sleeping infant into his arms. He tucked her securely against his chest, her small face barely visible beneath the heavy fabric of his graduation gown, wrapped in a soft pink blanket. He turned and began the long walk toward the stage. The reaction was instantaneous. The air in the room curdled as whispers turned into ripples of mocking laughter. “Are you serious?” someone muttered. “How typical,” another snickered. Then, directly behind me, a woman hissed a sentence that felt like a physical blow: “Just like his mother.”

The shame was a cold wave, crashing over me and making it hard to draw breath. I wanted to shrink into the floor, to erase the timeline of my life, to protect my son from the judgment I had carried for eighteen years. But Adrian didn’t falter. He didn’t look at the floor or quicken his pace to escape the ridicule. He ascended the steps with a steady, rhythmic grace, holding his daughter as if she were the most precious diploma he would ever receive. He accepted his scroll from the principal, but instead of exiting the stage, he moved toward the microphone.

The room fell into an uneasy, confused silence. Adrian adjusted the mic with one hand while the other supported the weight of the new life he was carrying. He looked out at the sea of faces—the judgmental, the curious, and the stunned—and spoke five words that froze the room: “My mom taught me what staying looks like.”

His voice was raw but unwavering. He told the audience that for his entire life, people had looked at his family and seen only what was missing—the absent father, the teenage mother, the lack of a traditional trajectory. He looked down at the baby in his arms and told the room that while they saw a mistake or a failure, he saw his greatest responsibility. “I found out a few months ago I was going to be a father,” he said, his voice shaking with the weight of the confession. “And I was terrified. I still am. But I knew one thing for sure: I’m not leaving her.”

He addressed the laughter directly, not with anger, but with a devastating honesty that forced the mockers to look away. “Maybe you think this baby means I failed before I even started. But she isn’t my failure. She’s my reason to succeed. And she’s never going to have to wonder if her dad stayed.” He paused, looking directly at me, and my vision blurred into a mess of salt and heat. “My mom was seventeen when she had me. People saw a mistake. I saw a miracle. If I can be even half the parent she was, my daughter is going to be just fine.”

The silence that followed was absolute, a vacuum of sound that lasted for several heartbeats. Then, a single person in the back stood up. Then a teacher. Then a whole row. Within seconds, the entire auditorium was on its feet in a thunderous, standing ovation. The people who had laughed were now wiping away tears, unable to meet our eyes. Adrian walked off that stage not as a punchline, but as a man who had redefined what it meant to be a hero in our town.

After the ceremony, we went directly to the hospital where Hannah was recovering. She was pale and gripped by the fear that she had ruined Adrian’s big day. He walked to her bedside without a moment’s hesitation and told her that she hadn’t ruined anything—she had started their lives. When she looked at me, bracing for the judgment she expected from a mother, I didn’t offer a lecture. I simply asked, “Have you eaten?”

That was the moment the dam broke for her. She came home with us a few days later. We didn’t have a perfect plan or a wealth of resources, but we had a foundation built on the absolute conviction that no one in our house would ever face the world alone again. We made space in our small apartment and even smaller budget. We struggled, we lost sleep, and we navigated the messy reality of two generations of young parenthood. But we stayed.

A year has passed, and our home is louder and more chaotic than I ever could have imagined. Sometimes I think back to that graduation night and the woman who whispered that Adrian was “just like his mother.” I realize now that she was right. He is exactly like me. He chose to love when it would have been easier to walk away. He was paralyzed by fear and chose to stand his ground anyway. Standing in that auditorium, I finally let go of the shame I had carried for eighteen years. The story of our lives didn’t belong to the people in the stands; it belonged to us. My son ensured that the final word on our family wouldn’t be a sneer or a laugh. It would be the truth.

Twelve Years After My Sister Vanished In A Storm Her Son Found A Rusted Tin Box In The Attic That Led Us To A Shocking Discovery At The Local Chapel

Twelve years ago, I stood in the middle of a torrential downpour and made a solemn vow to nine children who had just lost their world. My sister Alice had vanished into a night so violent the wind seemed to scream her name. Her husband had recently succumbed to cancer, and Alice had been struggling to keep her head above water, raising nine children—some biological, some adopted, all of them her heart and soul. The night she disappeared, she asked me to watch the kids while she ran an errand in town. She never returned. Her car was found off a ravine, crushed beneath a massive fallen tree, but the driver’s side door was open and Alice was nowhere to be found.

I moved into her house before the sympathy casseroles even stopped arriving. I was already half-raising those children anyway, and Alice, perhaps sensing a darkness on the horizon, had signed temporary guardianship papers that winter. She had joked that if she ended up in a ditch, she needed someone who could argue with school boards for her. I didn’t laugh then, and I certainly wasn’t laughing for the next decade as I fought to keep those kids together. Daniel, the youngest, was only four when it happened. He spent years asking when his mother was coming home, a question that eventually withered into a painful, silent void.

The silence broke when Daniel turned sixteen. He had been acting strange for weeks—jumpy, erratic, and locking himself in his room the moment he got home from school. When I finally cornered him in the hallway and demanded the truth, he went deathly pale. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a rusted tin box he had found hidden beneath the attic floorboards. Inside was a silver necklace I had given Alice years ago, a faded photograph, and a stack of letters tied with a blue ribbon. But it was the note that stopped my heart. It was a message from Alice, written in a frantic hand, stating that she was afraid someone was watching her. It instructed whoever found the box to go to Blackwood Chapel at nightfall.

That night, after the other children were asleep, Daniel and I drove to the abandoned chapel on the edge of town. Behind a broken altar, we discovered a narrow wooden door leading into a lightless cellar. My flashlight beam cut through the dust, landing on a familiar coat hanging from a rusty nail—Alice’s coat. Then, a voice emerged from the shadows, thin and hollow: “I knew one day you would come.” I turned my light and saw her. She was older, skeletal, and ghost-white, but it was undeniably Alice. Daniel made a sound that I will never forget, a guttural sob as he collapsed into her arms.

As the shock began to recede, the horrifying truth poured out. Alice hadn’t just been going to town that night; she was meeting a whistleblower who claimed to have evidence regarding a massive corruption ring involving church charities and the alteration of adoption records. Her husband had discovered that children were being moved for profit, and after his death, Alice had become the target of a terrifying intimidation campaign. Someone was watching the children at school; someone knew their schedules. On the night of the storm, a car had forced her off the road. She escaped the wreck, but she was found in the woods by the one person she thought she could trust: Sheriff Tom.

Tom had spent twelve years sitting in my kitchen, drinking my coffee, and pretending to lead the search for my sister. In reality, he was the architect of her disappearance. He told Alice that if she ever showed her face again, her children would pay the price. To prove his reach, he left photos in the chapel of Daniel getting off the school bus and walking home. Tom had an informant in the county services office who fed him every detail of our lives. Alice stayed in the shadows, moving between weekly motels and cash-paying sewing jobs in neighboring counties, always returning to the chapel to leave messages she hoped her children would one day be brave enough to find. She was waiting for Tom to retire, waiting for the leverage to change.

Alice revealed that the real evidence—the ledgers, the bank records, and the proof of the illegal placements—was hidden in a watertight lockbox buried under the root cellar of their first rental house on Miller Road. I made a dangerous choice the next morning. I went to Tom’s porch, acting as if I were exhausted and confused, telling him Daniel had found a letter about the chapel. I watched his face freeze for a microsecond before he offered his “help” in a voice that was far too gentle. I left without another word, knowing the trap was set.

That evening, I handed Daniel’s phone to his older sister Rachel, a nineteen-year-old who was as sharp as broken glass. I told her that if we didn’t answer by midnight, she was to call the state police—not the local office, but the state. Then, Daniel, Alice, and I drove to the ruins of the Miller Road house. We pried up the rotted cellar door and began digging frantically into the damp earth. We were halfway to the box when a shadow fell over the cellar opening. Tom stood there with a gun, his expression one of tired annoyance. He mocked Alice, telling her she should have stayed dead, and cruelly claimed she had abandoned her children by choosing to stay hidden.

Tom didn’t realize that Daniel was recording every word on a phone hidden in his sleeve. As Tom stepped closer to the edge, the rotted floorboards groaned. Daniel screamed, “Now!” and I lunged for Tom’s wrist. The gun discharged into the ceiling, bringing down a shower of dirt and ancient wood. Alice slammed a heavy shovel into Tom’s shoulder, and he stumbled back, crashing through the rotted boards into the lower pit of the cellar. At that moment, the blue lights of the state police swept across the overgrown yard. Rachel had seen enough on the shared location app to know the situation had turned deadly.

The state police found Tom trapped under broken timber, his own admissions captured on Daniel’s phone. The lockbox did the rest of the work. It contained a decade’s worth of corruption—names of officials, payoff amounts, and the heartbreaking records of children who had been treated like currency. Alice came home two days later, but it wasn’t a clean miracle. It was a homecoming defined by the damage of twelve lost years. The children were a mix of joy and resentment; Rachel told her she had missed everything, and the younger ones asked if she had ever stopped loving them.

As for me, I felt like a ghost in my own home. For twelve years, I had been the mother, the protector, and the provider. I didn’t know where I fit in this new, crowded reality. One night, Alice sat me down and told me that the only reason those nine children made it to adulthood was because of me. She didn’t see me as a replacement; she saw me as the bridge that kept them from falling into the abyss. We sat at a table of eleven that night—loud, messy, and real. Daniel remarked that he thought the truth would destroy us, but I looked at my sister and the children she had fought so hard to protect, and I realized that the lies had already been doing that. The truth didn’t break us; it finally allowed us to start healing.