Sarcasm is my first language. Sign language my second (sort of). English is my third. Translation? When people misunderstand my medical dilemmas, I am not the one to gently explain ANYTHING.
As anyone who knows me well will tell you (after much free counseling, “Cassie’s a work in progress” conversations), I use sarcasm to hide. And dag gummit, I am super good at it.
I received some not-so-fun secondary information at the neurology office a couple weeks ago. It’s nothing to be concerned about because… It’s just life of an epileptic, Cerebral Palsy Victor, and Tzeitze Disorder recipient.
I called it secondary information for a reason. I’m still livable, so there’s nothing to worry about. However, after 24 years of living in this rockin’ awesome time-bomb of a body, I focus on the secondary concerns. I focus on them because my body seems to enjoy making those secondary concerns really, really, really fun. (Sarcasm. See???)
Going over my fears with a friend here at Grace College, I told him the news dripping with sarcasm, inside lingo, and a lot of hand motions. He took me seriously. Like, entirely seriously. He teared up, hugged me tight and asked me in the most sincerely scared voice ever, “Are you sure being away from your family is wise right now?”
Wait. Just wait. What? Why? … Oh. Oh. He… He took me seriously. I used death-bed confession lingo because I’m tired of hearing doctors tell me to “live (my) life and the medical staff will clean up when things stop working again.” I wanna be normal medically. Just once, I want doctors to look at me and tell me they see cases like this all the frikkin’ time & they have a Heaven-kissed solution. But, since I didn’t get that this time around, employ sarcasm to hide my anger, frustration and just down right fear.
… Nope. Poor man-friend did not get the neon sign flashing above my head that said, “Don’t listen. Too mad to shoot straight.” No, I’m not dying, Dude. Seriously. Promise. No, I wasn’t lying to you just then, I’m just incredibly ticked off. Probably shouldn’t use words that make it sound like I’ll have no mental capacity by the time I’m 40. Oops. Oops. Oops. Darn sarcasm.
After I cleaned up from my complete narcissistic debrief to the poor guy, two things occurred to me.
1. I hide because I don’t want to be seen as needy, scared or even vulnerable. Not okay. Not right. Not fair to the Family of my heart.
2. I would love 5 minutes with the Physician of all physicians to first, heal me of my need for all this bloody sarcasm and second… Tell me what’s actually happening in my body and which disorder is truly at fault.
Dang it. I want Jesus. I want Heaven. I want the ability to have no need for sarcasm. I want to go Home. At least I know Jesus will get my sarcasm!