Since last Saturday I've had a sharp pain in my urethra after I pee. It feels like someone stuck a knitting needle in there. It's very uncomfortable. I haven't found a position that alleviates it, but I have found lying down in certain positions makes the pain worse. Strange.
So the question is: do I have a nerve flare concentrated in my urethra or do I have an infection that is being magnified by my pudendal neuralgia? I really don't know. I don't have any other UTI symptoms, like urgency or increased frequency.
There have been times when I've had sex in certain positions and the opening of my urethra has been hit or rubbed the wrong way. The pain is similar, but it wasn't linked to peeing. This time, there was no sexual trauma.
I don't know what could have brought it on besides the summer heat. Let's face it ladies, on a hot day, you're going to sweat down there. Pink part perspiration has caused me a lot of problems lately.
When my kitty gets overheated, my lactobacillus population increases causing burning similar to a yeast infection.
Could my hot muff have caused my urethral pain?
I'm drinking cranberry juice and hoping it will go away on it's own. I just saw my doctor last week. If it's not better by Monday I'll call. This is contrary to my, "Why Suffer," motto, but it's good to be sure you need medical assistance first.
I haven't been able to have sex all week and, of course, it has to be the week my partner has eyes for me. Hopefully he'll still be hot for me when this goes away. Maybe I'm just more appealing when he can't have me... or I'm not asking for it...
There might be a lesson in all this.
Showing posts with label UTI. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UTI. Show all posts
July 17, 2009
January 9, 2008
New Hope & New Pain
In July of 2006, I fell in love. It was like getting struck by lightning. He was “it.” I have never experienced feelings so strong and so genuine.
Although our emotional connection came easily, our physical connection was much more difficult. The first time we had sex the pain was horrific. I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside. I hadn’t kept up with my physical therapy and it appeared that my body had regressed.
I was devastated. My pain was back and worse than ever, but that wasn’t the most upsetting part. I wanted to be with that man so much and I didn’t want to ruin our relationship with my sexual dysfunction. It was too soon to tell him. I didn’t want to scare him away with vag talk. This guy was super-masculine and really gun-shy about the thought of beginning a relationship. He would have been out the door at the mere mention of the word VAGINA.
I suffered in silence. My pain was the worst it has ever been. Love hurts and when you’re in love you do whatever you can to make the other person happy.
In a truly pathetic attempt to manage my problem, I kept making emergency appointments with my gynecologist. I was back to square one. Every time I saw her, there was no yeast infection, no bladder infection, no UTI and no signs of inflammation in the area that felt I had scrapped along a mile of cheap, industrial carpeting. It was becoming unbearable.
Then I caught a lucky break. I made another desperate emergency appointment for terrible pain, but my GYN was out of the office. I was given an appointment with a resident. She was eager to learn and eager to help.
I told her the abbreviated version of my pain history and she told me that I there was an expert on pelvic pain on the third floor of the building. I had heard about him and I had even tried to schedule an appointment with him a year before, but when the pile of paperwork came in the mail, I said, “fuck it.” I didn’t want to go to all the trouble. More than anything, I didn’t want to admit that my problem was “that bad.”
The resident said, “do yourself a favor, go upstairs now and fill out the paperwork there.” I did. When I got to the receptionists desk I started crying. I suddenly had to admit to myself that my vulvodynia was completely out of control. I sat for 30 minutes in that office on a comfy couch and filled out every page. I had to pause frequently to wipe to tears off my face. I couldn’t stop crying.
When I handed everything back to the receptionist she reassured me that everyone in the office was really nice and they would take care of me. I didn’t have any faith that I could get better, but I had come this far and there was no turning back. I had to do something. I couldn’t continue to live in that much pain and didn’t want to give up on this most important relationship of my entire life.
Although our emotional connection came easily, our physical connection was much more difficult. The first time we had sex the pain was horrific. I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside. I hadn’t kept up with my physical therapy and it appeared that my body had regressed.
I was devastated. My pain was back and worse than ever, but that wasn’t the most upsetting part. I wanted to be with that man so much and I didn’t want to ruin our relationship with my sexual dysfunction. It was too soon to tell him. I didn’t want to scare him away with vag talk. This guy was super-masculine and really gun-shy about the thought of beginning a relationship. He would have been out the door at the mere mention of the word VAGINA.
I suffered in silence. My pain was the worst it has ever been. Love hurts and when you’re in love you do whatever you can to make the other person happy.
In a truly pathetic attempt to manage my problem, I kept making emergency appointments with my gynecologist. I was back to square one. Every time I saw her, there was no yeast infection, no bladder infection, no UTI and no signs of inflammation in the area that felt I had scrapped along a mile of cheap, industrial carpeting. It was becoming unbearable.
Then I caught a lucky break. I made another desperate emergency appointment for terrible pain, but my GYN was out of the office. I was given an appointment with a resident. She was eager to learn and eager to help.
I told her the abbreviated version of my pain history and she told me that I there was an expert on pelvic pain on the third floor of the building. I had heard about him and I had even tried to schedule an appointment with him a year before, but when the pile of paperwork came in the mail, I said, “fuck it.” I didn’t want to go to all the trouble. More than anything, I didn’t want to admit that my problem was “that bad.”
The resident said, “do yourself a favor, go upstairs now and fill out the paperwork there.” I did. When I got to the receptionists desk I started crying. I suddenly had to admit to myself that my vulvodynia was completely out of control. I sat for 30 minutes in that office on a comfy couch and filled out every page. I had to pause frequently to wipe to tears off my face. I couldn’t stop crying.
When I handed everything back to the receptionist she reassured me that everyone in the office was really nice and they would take care of me. I didn’t have any faith that I could get better, but I had come this far and there was no turning back. I had to do something. I couldn’t continue to live in that much pain and didn’t want to give up on this most important relationship of my entire life.
October 2, 2007
The Year of the UTI
My second year with vulvodynia was the year of the UTI.
With college back in session, I resumed regular sex with my partner. On top of the persistent pain during and after sex, I started getting frequent UTIs. It seemed like every time I had sex I got a UTI. It was like clockwork. But my UTIs weren’t like typical UTIs. I didn’t experience frequency, urgency or even burning. My UTIs were all about cramping pain.
The pain with urination was far more debilitating than any of my pain associated with vulvodynia. Toward the end of urination I would feel this horrible cramping pain that truly took my breath away. The pain usually didn’t subside for an hour. During that time, all I could do was lie still and wait for the pain to pass. On days when I had a UTI, I didn’t make it to class. I was in so much pain I just couldn’t function.
The UTIs were happening every two to three weeks. I would take 10 days worth of Cipro, feel better, have sex, and be back at the health center within two days of intercourse. It was ridiculous! The health center always took a urine culture, but regardless of the results, I was given antibiotics. Every few weeks I went through another 10-day course of Cipro.
It all began to take a toll on me physically and emotionally. I really started to hate sex. I found myself crying a lot. I was so run down and powerless. It just wouldn’t stop.
After four months, I found a urologist who told me that based on the arrangement of my anatomy, I would always get a UTI from sex unless I was protected by a daily low-dose antibiotic called Macrobid. I asked him if it would ever get better and he said, “maybe after childbirth.”
At least the Macrobid seemed to get the UTIs under control.
With college back in session, I resumed regular sex with my partner. On top of the persistent pain during and after sex, I started getting frequent UTIs. It seemed like every time I had sex I got a UTI. It was like clockwork. But my UTIs weren’t like typical UTIs. I didn’t experience frequency, urgency or even burning. My UTIs were all about cramping pain.
The pain with urination was far more debilitating than any of my pain associated with vulvodynia. Toward the end of urination I would feel this horrible cramping pain that truly took my breath away. The pain usually didn’t subside for an hour. During that time, all I could do was lie still and wait for the pain to pass. On days when I had a UTI, I didn’t make it to class. I was in so much pain I just couldn’t function.
The UTIs were happening every two to three weeks. I would take 10 days worth of Cipro, feel better, have sex, and be back at the health center within two days of intercourse. It was ridiculous! The health center always took a urine culture, but regardless of the results, I was given antibiotics. Every few weeks I went through another 10-day course of Cipro.
It all began to take a toll on me physically and emotionally. I really started to hate sex. I found myself crying a lot. I was so run down and powerless. It just wouldn’t stop.
After four months, I found a urologist who told me that based on the arrangement of my anatomy, I would always get a UTI from sex unless I was protected by a daily low-dose antibiotic called Macrobid. I asked him if it would ever get better and he said, “maybe after childbirth.”
At least the Macrobid seemed to get the UTIs under control.
September 23, 2007
Then It Got Out of Control
Within two days of my first sexual encounter, I was in searing pain, there was pus weeping from my vagina and the health center was closed. I went to the emergency room because I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t take the pain any more and I was worried that something was horribly wrong.
I went to a women’s hospital near my college. After hours in the waiting room, a doctor told me that I had a yeast infection and a urinary tract infection. She gave me Xylocane jelly to relieve the burning, a prescription for Diflucan and an antibiotic for the UTI. She told me to NEVER use colored or flavored condoms. She also told me to use a lot of lubricant to prevent irritation. I wish I had known all that before I had sex. Those shitty condoms should come with a warning label.
The infections cleared and the burning pain dissipated. As soon as I thought I had healed, I attempted sex again. I felt the same agonizing pain upon insertion and burning for hours after sex.
Xylocane jelly became a constant in my life. I used it after every time I had sex. It helped, but it didn’t do anything to treat the problem.
More pressing, was the pain I felt with penetration. Remember what if felt like to get your ears pierced. The jolt of pain as the pointed earring broke through your skin and then the burning that followed as a foreign object hung in your lobe.
Imagine that on a much larger scale. The best way I can describe it is feeling like I was being ripped apart from the inside. And no amount of lubricant lessened that persistent, jarring pain.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me and I was too ashamed to tell my partner. I wanted to enjoy sex and I wanted to please my partner, so I swallowed my pain. I had sex frequently, even though it hurt, because I wanted to be normal.
The only other relief I got was from soaking in warm water. Problem was: I lived in a dorm with no bathtubs. I filled a drawer from a plastic storage unit with hot water from the bathroom sink almost daily for just a few minutes of relief. It was humiliating to sit on the floor of my dorm room with my ass wedged in a drawer, but it was the only thing I could do to alleviate the pain.
I went to a women’s hospital near my college. After hours in the waiting room, a doctor told me that I had a yeast infection and a urinary tract infection. She gave me Xylocane jelly to relieve the burning, a prescription for Diflucan and an antibiotic for the UTI. She told me to NEVER use colored or flavored condoms. She also told me to use a lot of lubricant to prevent irritation. I wish I had known all that before I had sex. Those shitty condoms should come with a warning label.
The infections cleared and the burning pain dissipated. As soon as I thought I had healed, I attempted sex again. I felt the same agonizing pain upon insertion and burning for hours after sex.
Xylocane jelly became a constant in my life. I used it after every time I had sex. It helped, but it didn’t do anything to treat the problem.
More pressing, was the pain I felt with penetration. Remember what if felt like to get your ears pierced. The jolt of pain as the pointed earring broke through your skin and then the burning that followed as a foreign object hung in your lobe.
Imagine that on a much larger scale. The best way I can describe it is feeling like I was being ripped apart from the inside. And no amount of lubricant lessened that persistent, jarring pain.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me and I was too ashamed to tell my partner. I wanted to enjoy sex and I wanted to please my partner, so I swallowed my pain. I had sex frequently, even though it hurt, because I wanted to be normal.
The only other relief I got was from soaking in warm water. Problem was: I lived in a dorm with no bathtubs. I filled a drawer from a plastic storage unit with hot water from the bathroom sink almost daily for just a few minutes of relief. It was humiliating to sit on the floor of my dorm room with my ass wedged in a drawer, but it was the only thing I could do to alleviate the pain.
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