I don’t hate many things. I don’t hate the fact that, until I was 16, I considered Space Jam to be the best movie I had ever seen, I don’t hate Bret Michaels for having his own show, and I don’t even hate seeing testicles on trucks (Ok, fine I do).
My lack of day to day outrage and contempt could be because I watch the Don’t Worry Be Happy video on loop, which tends to put me under the impression that I’m on acid. However, a much more probable explanation is that I just don’t have any hate left to dispense. This is because I reserve it for my Urinary Tract Infection. Yeah, I talk about it like it’s Diabetes or Herpes, which isn’t entirely fair because it’s worse.
My UTI came with the first dick I fucked, and really isn’t much different from the stomach ache I get after eating at Olive Garden. Dick and Olive Garden are two things I can’t really stay away from, but they come with consequences. Fucking 6 times in a day may seem cool, but when you use condoms with spermicidal lube and neglect to pee afterward, the numbers begin to mock you. Since I chose to lose my virginity in my shitty freshman year dorm, I didn’t have the best resources available. I usually had to kick my roommate out of the bathroom so I could sit in a tub of warm water and resist thoughts of the most strategic way to bite dicks off with my teeth.
After cursing myself for not listening to all of those Jesus freaks about the flames of passion that had officially made themselves at home in my urinary tract, I sought medical help. The doctors I went to were usually fairly blasé about the fact that I was pissing blood, so I would get a pat on the head, a prescription for antibiotics, and as a bonus, a look that, to me, seemed to say, “You dumb ass”. Most of these antibiotics were effective enough to lead me to believe that I wouldn’t have to sew up my vagina and call it a day, which means I was optimistic until I found myself writhing around in another waiting room.
Today, my survival kit includes cranberry pills, water, AZO, and lots of Nancy Kerrigan-esque “WHY”s and as simple as that sounds, it’s taken me years to hone my methods. I used to heat water to temperatures hotter than the center of a Hot Pocket, so that I could dip a baby wipe in it and apply it to my urethra. Painful, but oddly effective. Of course, this ultimately exacerbated the situation, so I stopped doing it. I also don’t drink anything with caffeine because it turns my urethra into a lighter, which admittedly makes smoking cigars with my vagina a lot more interesting, but it’s ultimately fucking painful.
I have accepted the fact that I will probably have a UTI for the rest of my life. It’s been with me for years, but I have found ways to work around it. I still lead an active sex life and have torn up all of the suicide notes I’ve written to my vagina where I quote Linkin Park songs. I think my body has somehow adapted to the pain, and I can only hope that my digestive tract will follow suit, because those Olive Garden breadsticks are calling my name.
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I will have a UTI forever too! i keep going back to the doctor and antibiotics just have not helped! it is so painful, but i am getting used to it.
A bit late in the game to be commenting here, but you should check out a product called D-Mannose. It comes in powder form and it is made of magic. I used to get recurrent UTIs as well, but this stuff kicked them in the ass- no joke! It’s all natural, you can probably get it at Whole Foods. Worked for me, I’ll never look back!