Chronic Bladder Infections Made Me Feel Dirty, Boring, and Alone…
- Haley Young
- Sep 8
- 5 min read
Updated: Sep 16
Until doctors took me seriously.
At 21, I had a series of urinary tract infections that culminated in a bladder surgery. These infections affected me physically—the post-op pelvic floor physical therapy was brutal—but the greatest impact was on my mental health. I’m sharing my story for Sexual Health Week because most women will suffer at least one UTI in their lifetime.
The infection that started it all
The first urinary tract infection I got after college never went away. Not really.
The burning sensation hit on a Sunday morning. “Yep, that sounds like a bladder infection,” my doctor’s telehealth nurse confirmed when I explained my symptoms. “We’ll call in a prescription.”
I took my nitrofurantoin (an antibiotic to treat bacterial infections) religiously, wanting not only to rid myself of the discomfort but also the embarrassment. At some level I knew UTIs were common, but I couldn’t help feeling dirty. When I finished the medication, something still felt off. I waited until my annual gynecologist appointment a couple weeks later to ask about it. “I had a UTI last month,” I said, “and my pelvis still feels tight.” My doctor wasn’t concerned. “Abdominal pain is normal after infections,” she replied.
I tried to believe her.
Months of stubborn symptoms
A few weeks later, my symptoms came back in a big way. A constant need to pee. Intense burning when I did pee. Eventually, intense burning even when I wasn’t relieving myself.
I remember spending so much time in the bathroom at work—my first “real” job—that I worried my colleagues would notice, so I started only allowing myself to get up every hour and a half. I counted down the minutes on my computer’s corner clock, glancing around our open office plan, crossing and uncrossing my legs until I was as much pretzel as young woman.
Throughout these months I went through so many boxes of AZO Urinary Pain Relief—the highest dose of phenazopyridine hydrochloride (a medication used for UTI-related discomfort) available without a prescription—that I joked about getting a punch card. Although the medication eased my burning a little, its primary purpose seemed to be staining all my favorite underwear orange.
Why won’t this go away?
My UTIs were debilitating. I couldn’t concentrate on anything beyond when I would next be able to use the bathroom. I wondered if I had interstitial cystitis instead (a chronic condition associated with pelvic pain and problems urinating). I wondered if I could take a single sip of alcohol or sweet juice. I wondered if I’d ever be able to have sex—to share a loving, intimate moment with my partner—without panicking about getting sick.
I was full of questions with access to so few answers.
Mostly, I felt small. Other women I knew weren’t struggling like this. They could get a UTI and be back to normal within a week—or they never even got infections in the first place, even though they had sex before bed and sometimes held their pee and did other “forbidden” things I was careful to avoid.
It’s not all in your head
Finally, a doctor who took the time to listen to my story referred me for a cystoscopy. And what do you know: the procedure found a strange growth inside my bladder. Although the tumor was benign, its irregular surface created a breeding ground for bacteria.
In January—half a year since I’d felt fully like myself—I had surgery to remove it.
When all was said and done, I’d been diagnosed with six “official” UTIs with bacterial cultures. (I’d gone to urgent care even more than that.) I’d taken three different antibiotics in varying dosages, all of which interfered with my digestion. My bladder muscles were so overworked that even after two months of post-op pelvic floor physical therapy I had a hard time trusting if I actually needed to pee or not. (Did it just feel like I did? I should hold it, right? I should definitely hold it. But what if holding it gave me another infection? There was no rest for my anxious brain.)
Am I the problem?
The worst part about this saga wasn’t even the physical discomfort. It was how silly and stupid and alone I felt. Every time I went to the clinic, doctors asked questions like “do you wipe front to back?” and “do you pee after sex?” as if my infections must have a simple explanation—and that explanation must be my own incompetence.
“Yes,” I’d insist, wanting to lace the words with venom. “I do everything you tell me and more.”
Judgment came from friends, too. “Oh, you and your UTIs,” an old roommate sighed when I told her I didn’t feel up to going out one night. Later, my partner’s best friend pulled him aside for a conversation about how I “didn't seem like much fun.”
People either thought bladder infections were no big deal (and so I should just toughen up) or they were something completely preventable (and so I must have poor hygiene).
Chronic UTIs aren’t unusual
It turns out each UTI can make you more susceptible to getting another. About a quarter of women who get a bladder infection suffer a recurrence within six months. This is because infections can cause lingering inflammation—which affects our bladders’ immune response for the long haul.
I’d gotten so many infections, and the oddly-shaped growth on the wall of my bladder had enabled them to stick around, that my urinary tract was constantly inflamed. The pressure and discomfort and burning I felt even when I didn’t have a diagnosed UTI? It was never in my head. And it was never my fault.
In pursuit of long-term wellness
As I write this, I haven’t had a serious UTI in more than two years. Now 28, I travel full-time in a converted camper van and write about my passions (pets, relationships, personal growth) for a range of publications. I take better care of myself than ever.
But while I’m glad to have left behind walk-in waiting rooms and middle-aged male doctors throwing up their hands at my pain, I still carry anxiety about maintaining the (somewhat elaborate) routine my body needs. My partner and I rarely have sex at night (I am less likely to get another infection if I’m able to flush my system in the couple hours immediately following intercourse). I keep urinary pain relief medication and over-the-counter infection test strips on hand at all times. It takes extreme effort not to spiral at the first sign of symptoms.
But that anxiety fades each day, week, and month I avoid another UTI. “It’s wonderful that you’re learning all this when you’re so young,” my pelvic floor physical therapist said during one of our first sessions. At the time, it was hard to feel anything other than frustration. But looking back? She was right.
Starting to take pride in my body—refusing to feel ashamed of my body—set me up to continue living a healthier life. To sidestep embarrassment in favor of action. To advocate for myself when I know something doesn’t feel right.
This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust, who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.
