It looked a lot like chicken pox when I got pityriasis rosea the summer when I was twelve. At the time, the doctors seemed to think it was due to my having a fairly mild case of chicken pox when I was little (similar to the same varicella virus causing shingles in the elderly), but I believe in the decades since that they've moved away from thinking that's the cause.
Regardless, it was very similar to chicken pox in symptoms and examination and treatment. Since we couldn't get an appointment with my pediatrician, my mom took me to another family doctor in town (his son and I were in the same history class in seventh grade). I still remember vividly to this day how my mom told the doctor that I had the bumps on my legs, and he said let me see, so I proceeded to pull up the leg of my jeans to show him my calf. Then my mom said, no, it's on the thighs, and for me to take off my jeans. While I was used to undressing for my pediatrician, this was the first time I had been to this doctor, so being in just my underpants was embarrassing. I sometimes think my mom took me to that particular doctor since his son was just a little older than I was, and I was a late bloomer, so she figured it was good to have a doctor who was able to compare me with his own son.
To my relief, he didn't have me remove my underpants, but he did prescribe a lotion and told her it needed to be applied to all of the spots. When we got home, she had me stand completely naked in the living room on some newspaper covering the carpet (better light there for her to see, she said) while my little brother watched as she applied dabs of this lotion to every single bump she could find with a Q-tip. That happened twice a day every day for several days until the itching stopped.
Then a few months later, just after my thirteenth birthday, I had my well-child physical at the pediatrician. That visit went just like all of the previous ones, where I had to get undressed to my briefs at the start, and after the nurse took me down the hall to weigh me and get my height, the doctor would proceed with examining me while talking about me to my mom in the third person.
Then they got to the part about how my health had been, and she mentioned the chicken pox like thing on my torso and legs I had a few months earlier, but she didn't remember the name of it. But I did remember and said it was pityriasis rosea, at which point the doctor looked at me and said "I guess we didn't need Mom in here after all."
Of course, that was after he already had pulled down my underpants in front of her at the end of the exam, as he did every year. But then, clearly not having a clue about what he just said about not needing her present, he then had me lie back down on the table to take a second look at my legs and torso, again pulling down my underpants and keeping them down for what seemed like forever, inspecting every square millimeter of my groin and scrotum. I guess he was looking for any remaining bumps or possibly scars.
It wasn't until the next year's exam that he said I soon would catch up to the other boys my age (because my testicles finally started growing just around the time I turned fourteen) but I think that exam as a thirteen year old eighth grader was the first one where my modesty kicked in, making nudity in front of my mom uncomfortable. It wasn't really logical on my part, given that I still had a little boy's penis and testicles, and she had seen me naked twice a day every day only a few months earlier. But that year, and every year thereafter, through my sixteen-year-old well child exam, I was very uncomfortable when he pulled down my underpants and showed my mom how my penis and testicles were developing. I sometimes wonder if the trigger for that new anxiety had been all those sessions standing naked on newspaper in the living room, with my mom dabbing lotion on all the red bumps.