Bethany Wilcox versus Bethany Kays or just Bethany

I started noticing Tourette tics this afternoon. That is how I KNOW things are not going well. My friend has helped to label these as red flag days. It is a crisis kind of day that needs immediate intervention of self love, outside love, mindfulness, and peace. I needed to find some sort of loophole. Some sort of way to stop this running and not moving forward. I ended up at the prairie. 
Bethany Wilcox is my maiden name. I have found that many moments of PTSD and panic and depression leading to suicidal thoughts are Bethany Wilcox. The parts of me that lose my voice, that feel small, that feel weak and beaten down are Wilcox. The moments that I wish I were just dead, always Bethany Wilcox. 

When I married my husband I became Bethany Kays. A loved and cherished and valued woman who felt she mattered. A wife, a mother. It felt like who I was supposed to be all along. It’s as if the Bethany has always been there but that last name gave me a new title of strength, peace, and so much more. Bethany Kays wants to LIVE.
I had some bloodwork done last week and our insurance has changed so I had to update it with the lab. You cannot get a human being anymore. After my husband tried 5 times I finally called and the automated message said, “If you have a rotary phone stay on the line and a representative will be right with you.” Rotary phone??? Do they even still MAKE those? I mean I have a land line which I think is pretty rare but rotary?? So I found a loophole. I held the line and got a human. 
I have not found that loophole yet to myself. I am aware though. I know that when I am pushed beyond my limits and I just wish I were dead that connects me directly to the Bethany Wilcox that often went right there to death as a way out of abuse. I never deny myself emotion. It is okay to feel. Feeling desperate and feeling helpless and alone are human nature experiences usually brought on by other insensitive humans. Going to a place where I wish I were dead is not where I want to go. Bypassing that and finding the loophole is my goal. 

I’ve started noticing my own feelings and when I feel this despondency. It is when I am trying to be Bethany Kays but someone tries to drag me back down to the beaten Bethany Wilcox. When can I just be me? I wonder. 
On Saturday we had our septic tank block up. I had to call a man out on the weekend to pump the tank. By the time he got here it was 8pm. Dark. He wanted me to show him where the tank was. I walked, in the dark, through the grass, to the backyard to point out the tank. While walking back I stumbled and almost fell. He said something to the affect of wow you don’t see well at night. I said, I do, I just have a muscle disease and do not typically walk in the grass. He then said something to the affect of, let me wipe the tear off my eye. I thought he was being compassionate. A moment later he said life was too short to feel sorry for yourself. He was being sarcastic. Um…buddy…I am paying you 200 dollars overtime to come out here plus 300 dollars to pump this tank. I was not feeling sorry for myself either. I was simply answering the question that HE asked! I almost fell showing YOU the septic tank when I usually use a wheelchair, asshole!!!!You are being paid to NOT be an asshole. But I said nothing. Because that is what Bethany Wilcox does. She wants to be strong but she can’t. I even asked my husband to let me handle it alone because I wanted to practice my boundaries. Can I stand my ground to a man who I have just paid $500 to who I am waiting to pump my septic tank though? No I really can’t. Because he KNOWS that unless he pumps it, I have no water for the weekend. He has the power of the pump! So I have to let him make his asshole comment. Right? Do I? I don’t have an answer. 
But as you can see by the pictures I posted that day of the butterflies and the sunset, I chose to go to the prairie and live in that sunset moment. I did not let him steal my joy for long. But it has been bothering me. So maybe he stole a little. Or just brought into perspective how much work I still have to do, which puts me in a red flag Wilcox state again. I’m freaking complicated. But abuse will do that to a person.
Today I had an appointment that I went in to with high anxiety. I had had little sleep. I will share why even though it is personal because I find the truth to be important. I have been unable to urinate without excruciating pain. For a number of weeks now. My primary care doctor, who I adore, gave me antibiotics, but they did not work. I knew I had to go see the urology clinic ASAP because it felt as if I were peeing razors. I have interstitial  cystitis. It causes an irritation in the bladder which makes the bladder bleed and often sets the bladder up for infection. I received almost a year of treatment a few years ago where the Doctor catheterized me and inserted a medication called elmeron. That fixed the problem for a few years thankfully. I also have vulvadynia which is a vaginal disorder that causes extreme pain and inflammation at the opening of the vagina. After going to a specialized clinic and being part of a case study when I was 18 I learned there was nothing that worked to help me and I needed to get used to the pain. SO, having excruciating urination ONLY in the urethra was new for me. And scary. Going in to these appointment I know means more pain.

The appointment was made and I went in to find that my doctor was nolonger working there. The main doctor was there but his RN was who I was seeing. My old doctor knew everything about me and put it in my notes. She lifted my legs for me and put them in the stirrups and had another nurse hold my legs since I did not have the strength. She knew of the past abuse and always explained everything she did before she did it. She was compassionate and gentle and very calm. Well that is not who was there today. Not even close. This woman today was insensitive, arrogant, rude, dismissive, and the list can go on and on. She seemed exasperated at my existence. She questioned my own knowledge of the diseases I have been diagnosed with. APPARENTLY the muscle disease central core disease is only the core muscles of the abs and not extremities. I tried to explain “core” meant mitochondrial death but she knew better as an RN apparently she knows more than my specialist in England. APPARENTLY vulvadynia only affects intercourse. Well, bitch, obviously you don’t have it! It affects EVERYTHING. But she was the “all knowing being and expert” who gives a bad name to doctors everywhere. She was constantly frustrated with my history because she could not listen and type at the same time and could not remember what I was saying so she sighed repeatedly while asking me to stop talking. This was all before the putting my own feet in the stirrups, crying during the catheterization, her telling me there were no answers she could give and me throwing up in the sink in the room. When she left the room I lay there on the table covered in a light sheet sobbing. When she came back in to tell me she had consulted with another doctor who BELIEVED there was something wrong and something they could do and ordered tests and antibiotics and called in multiple prescriptions she was outwardly annoyed that I was still laying there. I just cried. She did not care. She had other patients. It didn’t matter what I did or said. I was a number and the next number was up. My husband overheard her discussing me. It did not make him happy. 

I cried in that room for a very long time. I wished I were dead. I did not want to have this muscle disease or vaginal disease or now urethral issue and the seizures and everything on my list of health. I did not want to be going into an appointment in pain, vulnerable, to be dismissed by an ego BITCH ( and I don’t believe in calling someone a bitch but if anyone ever fit the name it is her) I looked at her playboy tattoo on her ankle as she came back in to tell me the plans to call in the meds. It was all I could see. I knew I was completely dissociated. It infuriated me that our own police department has to cover their tattoos and YET this bitch got to keep her playboy one? Fury. I felt fury. Which gave me the strength to get up and get dressed only to realize I had peed all over everything. At some point I soaked my jeans and my sweatshirt that hung down. I was humiliated. Now I had to somehow get out of there without ruining my scooter and my car with urine. I grabbed a few disposable pads they put on the table and left. The whole way home I only thought I wished I were dead. 

As I waited in the parking lot I saw a dragonfly next to a fire truck. I went up to talk to the firefighters. I told them I was having one hell of a day and I just wanted to speak to someone who chose their job to truly help others. They were awesome. I was feeling more like Bethany Kays. 

They said I could take a picture of their truck to remind me of the good. I loved that.

After I got home I slept for 3 hours and woke up fired up angry again. I was angry because I went to that appointment, driven by my husband, who had to take time off of work. What was I going to say? You’re a bitch? Leave without treatment? Then what? I had no ride to another appointment OR another appointment option. I had to just shut up to this woman my insurance paid probably $500 to for making me feel like a worthless human being who deserved not one ounce of common decency. 

So are we forced into silence? What if there is no other choice other than to just take it? And shut up? But doing that makes me feel like the Bethany Wilcox that wishes she were dead. There is no gentle way to tell a woman like this anything. You don’t confront a woman before she crams a catheter up your urethra nor can you confront her as you are doubled over in pain afterward vomitting. That’s when the tics started. Because having seizures and a muscle disease and lyme disease and vulvadynia and intersistial  cystitis, and a bone disease and everything isn’t enough. Nope. I have to have Tourette syndrome too!!!!!! Not feeling sorry for myself just saying how it is. There is a lot on my plate and a little kndnesss is not too much to ask for. I am sure she has asshole patients herself. But I am not one of them. I am kind and patient to EVERYONE and yet that does not seem to matter. 

So where is the loophole? 
I went to the prairie. I watched the sunset and stood and marveled at the beauty of the sky that was presented to me. I felt like me. I felt like Bethany. I renewed my ministry lisence even though I know I cannot do baptisms or funerals or hospice. I looked at my picture and was reminded of the me that chose this because of my beliefs in my own relationship with God and my own belief in myself having nothing to do with the rest of the world. This Bethany, whose picture is not a representation of what I look like now but what I wanted to be and still am. 

This sky and my ability to find it and find joy and peace in it IS the loophole. If I could only live in it more than just a few moments. If only there were less bad people and more kindness then maybe the loophole would be unnecessary. If only. 

And this sky. Look at this sky. Breathtaking. No filters. I have no clue how to do filters. And why filter such pure beauty anyway!!!

28 thoughts on “Bethany Wilcox versus Bethany Kays or just Bethany

  1. I feel like when people are horrible karma somehow refunds their misery but it still doesn’t make it ok! I am so sorry you had to interact with them! The important part is that you still remembered to look up… I LOVE the sky for that! Really, it’s so unbelievably beautiful, it’s like no matter how angry or upset I am I have no choice, the sheer beauty forces me to look up. That changes my perspective every time and I am always SO grateful! I love these photos!! It’s hard to capture pictures like this!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I made it there just in time to catch probably only 15 minutes of the sky changing moment to moment. I was so glad I went to ease the wounds of the day. Now that I wrote about it I don’t even really care. I have my pictures to remember and I can let the rest go. Writing is very theraputic to me. Thanks for reading !

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Yeah she’s a bitch…actually I would use a much worse word, the one that most women don’t like. There is no excuse for her treatment of you. How dare she. She should’ve spoken to you with respect…dammit! WTF is wrong with people??? And that asshole water heater douche…him too.

    I don’t know, can you report theme to someone? I’m sure there’s a place to go to report that doctor.

    God I fucking hate doctors. I’m sorry you had to deal with such assholes.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh I called her the worse word alllll the way home!!!! My husband was quite tolerant of my rampage!!!!!!!
      I can’t report anyone. The other doctor there has to do a procedure on me and i love him. And we need a 4 grand new drain field by the other guy.
      Why are people dicks. Still don’t get it. Like just don’t be a dick. You’re getting money. If you hate your job find something else but stop being a dick is what id love to say among other

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yeah, those are pretty simple instructions.
        I’m sorry you went through all that. It sucks how a lot of people are. I’m sorry for my suggestion too. I know that’s not what you were looking for. I just get so frustrated at shit like this. If I had been there, I’m not so sure I would’ve kept my mouth shut, watching them treat you like that.


      2. Don’t be sorry for any suggestion!!!
        I am contemplating it right now actually. I mean i have to go back there to see another doctor but who is to say I do not have the right to make a valid complaint against this one! So you got me thinking and I value your thoughts so thank you.


      3. Actually composing my complaint now! So yes thankyou. I have been going there for 10 years. The main doctor’s daughter is my daughter’s best friend. So I trusted this place with my body and it is unacceptable that they betrayed me with their employee

        Liked by 1 person

  3. I love you and I’m so proud of you. I love the pictures you took. They are beautiful. Even though your life has been filled with ugly, negative, awful, terrible things you have something to show because you are still beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Thank you for sharing. ALL of it. The pictures are gorgeous. Going there, sharing what it was and is really like is a blessing to all of us who have survived assault and years of PTSD hiding in the shadows only to burst forth and ambush us. I am only now starting to share what has been almost a year of therapy and growth after mine blew up. Peace and gratitude to you, dear.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Peace and gratitude to you for your willingness to share and be supportive to me at this time too. I’m really glad you enjoyed the pictures. They were a HUGE blessing to me. They almost don’t even seem real today looking at them


  5. I’ve had quite a few experiences like this one, and its awful! You actually did remarkably well ❤ The last 2 times I had this happen-one was at the doctors and I let rip (accompanied with a panic attack of course lol) … him and his patients and his staff all got the short end of my anger. Then I laid a complaint with the Commissioner for Health. And then he did what he was supposed to in the first place, and apologised. However, I've never been back there. The other time was at the hospital and I let rip again … my family tried to shush Me, but I had that overwhelming feeling of 'being silenced' and for the life of Me (thank goodness) I couldn't be silent. I was so angry … I remember yelling at this doctor and nurse quoting something obnoxious like 'I pay taxes and therefore pay your god dam wage – and your service sucks ass!' lol. I felt better at the time but it took its toll on Me afterwards.
    We have so many ebbs and flows don't we … I think we're incredibly resilient creatures xo

    And the sunset is gorgeous ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Well. I”ve pretty much decided….I’m bringing you to my next appointment with me 🙂
      Pretty freaking awesome you were able to do that. Really awesome.
      Ebbs and flows really does sum it up

      Liked by 1 person

      1. haha and what a pair we’d make lol!

        What I didn’t say before is there was snot and tears (the ugly variety lol) for miles … but there was so much relief in saying what I wanted too … they really were horrid, and I am Way over horrid … as I bet you are too ❤


      2. I just had the ugly tears and snot AND I actually wore make up which I rarely do that was then streaked all over me.
        One of these days I will say what I want to and write all about it!

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Oh hell … that would’ve been a little bit messy 😉 And thats all good though – snot and tears are awesome … I see it like the poison seeping out 😉

        I look forward to reading that post 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      4. Heaven help the poor soul it gets unleashed on!!
        The last rage I had i took every piece of furniture and every item my mother ever gave me and dumped it at the end of my driveway with my wheelchair and a dolly. Some things I smashed with a hammer. Some things I burned in a burn pit. There was a lot of crying, snot, rage. It put a tiny bit of “oh shit” into my friends and family of what I was capable of when scorned. NOW if I could only do this in the moment. I am more of an after event rager. I need to in the moment stand up for myself for ONCE> it’s coming.

        Liked by 1 person

  6. Bethany, I honestly don’t know how you do it – how you find and embrace such beauty (the sky, the fire truck) after a horrid day with a horrid nurse.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you!
      I was pretty darn proud of myself for still seeking it out when I could have just thrown in the towel for the day. Thanks for the ongoing encouragement

      Liked by 1 person

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