“You don’t understand.”
Jack was animated, his hands moving as we chatted. We were at the bar of a new Mexican restaurant where he mentioned his connection to the chef—“Old buddies,” he told the waiter. An hour into our taquitos, his attention had drifted from tracing the fresh thigh tattoos on my leg that read little flirt in French. The pain from the new ink was still fresh; I had relished the first prick of the needle, but by the second, it became just plain discomfort.
Jack leaned in closer, perhaps mirroring how he might engage with his kids. “I’ve been trying everything,” he earnestly stated.
He had recently received a diagnosis of Ureaplasma, a bacterium found in many individuals’ urinary and reproductive systems, but one that can cause painful infections when it proliferates. It’s not officially classified as a sexually transmitted infection, but it spreads mainly through sexual contact. At that time, I had just finished a long, frustrating battle with Ureaplasma and was keen to avoid it again. So after Jack hooked up with his ex—totally acceptable in our nonmonogamous setup—I asked him to get tested. He did, and the result was positive. The issue? He refused to take antibiotics, the only treatment known for Ureaplasma.
Jack began listing off the natural remedies he’d attempted, counting them off on his fingers so I’d get the full picture. As he recited his list, I found myself wishing for a way to escape the tedious conversation. By the time he mentioned oregano oil, it was apparent: this seemingly healthy guy was okay with living with a persistent infection that could be passed to me and others.
Despite being older—twice my age—Jack radiated health. He often sent me flirty texts from the gym and urged me to try kefir, crediting it with keeping his microbiome in top shape. When I left some of the salmon he prepared uneaten, he expressed concern over my protein levels. Watching him eat, I couldn’t help but marvel at how he cleared his plate, the scrape of cutlery on the dish echoing as he consumed the rich, flaky skin. His physique was aspirational, a stark contrast to my reality—a queer, 25-year-old who, honestly, often counted her trips on the subway as exercise. His physical presence was part of why I overlooked his rather “natural” inclinations. The other reason? The sex. Jack was older, assertive, and in control. The age difference added an interesting dynamic, and I appreciated his efforts to impress me, even down to the way I’d layer on lipstick as he picked up the bill.
I had met him on Feeld, a dating app that caters to nonmonogamous, polyamorous, and kink-friendly crowds. Such platforms have opened the door to subcultures in dating, allowing men like Jack—who often appear moderate yet embrace open-minded sexual preferences—to connect. While it can lead to interesting intersections of different values, it can also become quite frustrating. Sometimes it feels like people don’t really align. For Jack and me, this clash made itself known in discussions about health.
The first time I met my primary partner, Jack casually mentioned his skepticism about the COVID vaccine over a cup of loose-leaf green tea. Had his ex-wife not been pregnant and sharing custody of their children, he likely wouldn’t have bothered to get vaccinated. If he weren’t so confident in his beliefs, so effortlessly charming, I might have questioned his logic. But then, I also wondered about the inherent risks of nonmonogamy, which often comes with a certain thrill—even if it sometimes feels threatening.
“Luckily,” Jack remarked, “I got the Johnson & Johnson.”
In other words, he only had to receive a single dose.
He still seemed naive about Ureaplasma. Like many who carry it, Jack displayed no symptoms, which might have led him to think that if he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t there. His real concern seemed to be the emotional impact of being denied intimacy with me. When I said, with a dramatic flair, “I guess this is probably it, then,” he topped it off with a hopeful, “I know it won’t be like this forever.” That sounded beautiful—but really, what made him think that? His microbiome wasn’t going to handle this on its own.
As for me, I definitely had symptoms. Back in 2022, before I had met Jack, I had my own run-in with Ureaplasma. I woke one morning to an alarming realization—my vulva felt like it had inflated to three times its normal size. It was an uncomfortable and bewildering sensation.
When I sought help from gynecologists, they assured me, That’s not feta, it’s yeast. They prescribed antifungals which led to bacterial vaginosis. More antibiotics followed to tackle that, but instead, they reignited the yeast. For months, I was trapped in a painful cycle where everything burned and sex was excruciating. After a while, I simply stopped trying to engage in intimacy.
My doctors, not knowing the root cause, went through the same routine—testing for common infections and prescribing incorrect antibiotics which only aggravated the situation. Meanwhile, my immune system declined, leading to kidney infections and more. It seemed no one connected the dots, certainly not the doctors who didn’t recognize that Ureaplasma was the real issue since the symptoms it causes mimic other common infections.
Neither did my gynecologists seem to grasp how prolonged infection could cause more severe complications. Ureaplasma can exacerbate issues like pelvic inflammatory disease that might result in infertility. Pregnant women carrying this bacterium face serious risks like premature birth. Although men are often asymptomatic, Ureaplasma can also contribute to infertility and increased cancer risks.
Given that Ureaplasma is usually harmless in most individuals, medical professionals often downplay its significance, viewing it as not pathogenic enough. When I eventually chose to ask my partner to test before being intimate with others, their doctors frequently dismissed my concerns. The clinics and gynecologists often focused solely on standard STI panels, which don’t include Ureaplasma, and discouraged unnecessary screening unless symptoms emerged. Surprisingly, about 60 percent of women carry some form of Ureaplasma but many show no signs, leaving those who wish to get tested to navigate the process largely on their own.
Countless individuals share their experiences trying to find help for Ureaplasma online. A Reddit thread titled “The Ureaplasma Bible” has attracted over 3,000 comments from people facing difficulties with medical providers and battling repeated infections. Users have compiled resources including testing codes and a list of “doctors who take Ureaplasma seriously” around the country. From reading these exchanges, it’s evident that many women, after enduring chronic pain, are relying on each other for support and solutions.
This was certainly my situation. It was only after months and with the help of a gynecologist recommended on Reddit that I received a diagnosis. A simple vaginal swab revealed the Ureaplasma, and the right course of antibiotics cleared up my symptoms. However, I soon found myself reinfected due to new partners—mostly through oral sex, I figured. That returned the discomfort, leading to more rounds of antibiotics. The cycle continued, further straying my health out of my control.
After all I had endured, I could sympathize with Jack’s preference for a more natural route. But I’d spent years grappling with Ureaplasma, and I had finally found relief. If he wasn’t prepared to take antibiotics, having sex with him was too risky. His other partners could be affected too if they hadn’t already shared the infection with him. Jack repeatedly cited the dedication he put into his microbiome as a reason against antibiotics. “I can’t start over,” he’d say. As we stood to leave the restaurant, it struck me: Neither could I.
Jack insisted on calling me a cab, and when he shut the door behind him, I was left simmering with anger. Back at home with my primary partner in Harlem, I felt drained, betrayed, and unheard. “That makes sense,” my partner acknowledged, and I realized he had been waiting for me to come to a conclusion he had reached long ago: This relationship isn’t worth it.
Now, I use my awareness of Ureaplasma as a way to gauge potential partners. These pervasive bacteria have become a surprising filter in my dating life: Are they willing to invest in my well-being? Do they care enough to protect my health? Jack did not. And I can’t consider that healthy.
