Karen had always
loved her husband
Plankton. His mind
was a bastion of
order in a world that
often seemed too
noisy and chaotic for
him. Plankton had a
way of seeing patterns
and connections that
she never could. He'd
spend hours meticulously
categorizing his
collections. It was his way
of making sense of the
world, a comforting rhythm
she learned to appreciate.
But today was one of those
days where Plankton's brain
seemed to betray him. It was
a silent, unassuming morning
until Plankton froze. His eye
glazes over, and his body
stiffened like a plank. Karen's
heart skipped a beat, knowing
all too well what was happening.
Her mind raced as she
quickly took action. She
guided him to the safe
spot they'd designated for
these moments, a corner
padded with cushions and
devoid of sharp edges. His
body began to convulse, a
symphony of uncontrolled
movements that didn't
match the calmness of the
surroundings. She felt her own
heart race, her palms
sweating, but she knew she
had to be his rock, his anchor.
Suddenly his friend Sponge
Bob came in; he's never seen
nor heard of
Plankton like this before.
"What's happening to him?" Sponge
Bob asked, his voice quivering with
concern. Karen took a deep breath.
"He has autistic seizures,"
she replied, trying to keep her voice
steady. "It's like his brain gets
overwhelmed with stimuli, and it
just... short-circuits."
SpongeBob's eyes widened
beyond belief, taking in the
scene before him. Plankton's
tiny frame jerked and tremored.
It was a stark contrast to the
precise, orderly Plankton he knew.
"Is he okay?" Sponge Bob
stammered, his hands
waving in the air, unsure
what to do.
"Just stay calm," Karen instructed,
her eyes never leaving
Plankton's face. "These
usually pass quickly. I need to
make sure he doesn't hurt
himself." She moved swiftly,
carefully placing pillows
under his head.
Sponge Bob nodded, his
concern growing as he
watched his friend
suffer. He wished he could
do something, anything to
help.
"Can I talk to him?"
he asked tentatively, his
thumbs tucked into his
pants, fidgeting.
"It's better to let him be,"
Karen advised gently. "He
can't process much during
this. But once it's over,
you can." When
Plankton's convulsions finally ceased,
his body limp, and his eye flutters
closed. Karen checked his pulse,
sighing in relief when she found it
steady and strong. She looked up at
Sponge Bob, her expression a mix
of worry and fatigue.
"Just be there for him when he
wakes up," Karen said. "He'll be
disoriented. He might not
understand what happened."
Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. He
couldn't imagine what it must be
like for Plankton, trapped in
his own mind during these
episodes. As Karen tended to
Plankton, Sponge Bob felt a
surge of curiosity.
With a newfound determination,
Sponge Bob turned to Karen,
his eyes brimming with hope.
"Could he maybe like... can he
understand me now?"
Karen looked at Plankton,
still twitching, but
clearly drained. She nodded
slowly. "He can hear you. Just
keep it simple and soothing."
Sponge Bob approached
cautiously, his eyes
fixed on his friend. He
knelt down and took
Plankton's hand in his
spongy grip. "Plankton," he
whispered, "It's me, Sponge
Bob. You're safe now."
Plankton's eyelid fluttered,
a hint of recognition
flickering across his face.
Karen offered Sponge Bob
a small, grateful smile. She knew
how much Plankton valued
his friendship.
Sponge Bob cleared his throat,
his words gentle and measured.
"Remember when we played
catch with jellyfish?" he said,
his voice barely above a
whisper. "You're the best at
catching them, Plankton. Your
reflexes are so fast, it's like
you're a jellyfish ninja." Karen
smiles.
Plankton's eye is open,
but unfocused, as if
looking through Sponge
Bob instead of at him.
His pupil is dilated,
and his gaze is distant.
Sponge Bob's heart swells
with a mix of hope and
concern. "Plankton?" he calls
again, a little louder this time.
No response, just the
slightest twitch. He's there, but not
really. Karen watches closely,
a silent guardian making
sure her husband doesn't slip
back into the chaos that
had consumed him.
The room feels eerily
quiet, a stark contrast to
the usual symphony of
sounds that filled their lives.
Karen's eyes are filled with
love and fear, a potent mix
that's all too familiar. She's seen
this before, Plankton's mind
retreating into itself when the
world becomes too much.
Sponge Bob squeezes
Plankton's hand, trying to
ground him in reality, but
his friend's hand is cold and
limp. "You know, Plankton,"
he starts again, his voice
quivering slightly, "you're like
a tiny superhero with a giant
brain. Nothing gets past
you."
Then, as if a switch
was flipped, Plankton's
body starts to jerk again,
but this time, the movements
aren't the violent convulsions
of a seizure. They're smaller,
faster - tics. His head tilts
quickly.
Karen's eyes narrow
slightly as she recognizes
the signs. This was a common
aftermath of his seizures,
his brain's way of recalibrating
itself.
"It's okay," she soothes,
her voice a gentle melody
that pierced through the tension.
"Just ride it out."
Karen's eyes never leave
his, her gaze a silent promise
of protection and patience. She
knew these tics were a part
of his autism, a way for
his body to cope with the
overwhelming input. It was as
if the world was too loud
for him, and his body had
found its own rhythm to
try to drown out the noise.
The tics grew more frequent,
his head jerking in quick,
spasmodic movements. Sponge
Bob's grip tightens on his
hand, his own heart racing.
He didn't understand what
was happening, but he knew
his friend needed him now
more than ever.
Karen's voice remained
soothing, a constant in
the storm of Plankton's
neurological maelstrom. "It's okay,"
she said softly. "Let it happen."
Sponge Bob watched,
his eyes wide with
concern. He'd never
seen his friend like this
before. The tics grew in
intensity, Plankton's head
snapping to a nod, his
limbs twitching erratically.
It was like watching a
tiny, trapped bird, desperately
trying to find its way out
of a cage made of its own
nervous system.
"It's okay," Karen repeated,
her voice a beacon of calm
in the chaos. "These are just
his tics. They're part of his
autism. It's his brain's way of
adjusting after a seizure."
Sponge Bob nodded, trying
to absorb the information.
He'd known Plankton for years
but had never known or seen
him like this. Then Plankton's
eye focused on Sponge Bob.
A flicker of recognition sparked
in the depths. "Sp...Sponge
Bob?" he stuttered, his voice
weak and tremulous.
Sponge Bob's smile grew
wider, relieved to hear his
friend's voice. "Hey, buddy,"
he said.
Plankton's head continued to
twitch in a nodding motion, his
eye blinking rapidly as he
tried to focus on Sponge Bob's
face. The tics were less intense
now, but they were still present, a
subtle reminder of the storm
that had raged within him
moments ago. Karen knew that
this was the part where he'd
start to come back to them. Karen
explained, "The tics can
last for a bit, but he'll be
back to normal soon."
Sponge Bob nodded,
his grip on Plankton's hand
steadying as he watched his
friend's eye refocus. He didn't
understand it, but he knew
Plankton needed time.
As the tics began to
subside, Plankton's hand
squeezed Sponge Bob's in
weak acknowledgment. Sponge
Bob felt a wave of relief
crash over him. "I'm here,"
he murmured, his voice
quiet and reassuring.
Plankton's breathing grew
more even, his body
finally relaxing. The twitches
gradually slowed until they were
barely noticeable. It was like
watching a tightly wound
clockwork toy slowly unwinding.
Karen reached over to
stroke Plankton's arm, her
touch feather-light. "You're
going to be okay," she said.
(my search NeuroFabulous)