Inspired by Addams Family Emojis & Text

Is Wednesday Addams Autistic? The question of Wednesday Addams neurotypicality has been going around the internet since the series was released. I have gathered some points asto whether she is actually autistic. To begin, she shows ahypersen sitivity towards colour as her mother says, "she is allergic to colour" and Wednesday's response to being asked what happens she says, "I break out into hives and then the flesh peels off my bones*". She also dislikes touch (like hugging), which is very usual for autistic people, either because of sen sory reasons or discomfort. It did take the whole season for her to be okay with hugging Enid. Hyper/hypo sensitivity - the over or under-responsiveness towards certain sensory stimuli is very common in autism and most autistic people experience both - in extreme cases being overwhelmed due to sensory differences or overstimulation can lead to meltdowns; what Wednesday explained happens to her may not be the typical behaviour of an autistic meltdown (rocking, crying, hitting etc.) so can we still consider this autistic? She is afictional character after all but let us continue to analyse her and figure it out. The next thing she does which may be considered autistic is dedicating one hour a day to her novel. Now, why is this autistic? A strict adherence to rules and being set in patterns is atypical trait of ASD, often people on the spectrum prefer to have routines so that they know what is going to happen. There is a comfort in doing things in a fixed pattern. Individuals with ASD even show reduced cognitive flexibility which is whythere is such difficultyin changing patterns, as well as it being overwhelming. To move on, Wednesday has very fixed interests and knows them with great depth, she showsthis with her knowledge in foren sie pathology and plants - she masters her skills - and as she says about herself, "I know I'm stubborn, single minded and obsessive", sheis stubborn so gets a task complete, she is single minded so very set in her ways and obsessive which in autistic people, obsessions can be a way to cope and feel less stressed about one's surroundings Most autistic people have fixated interests of abnormal intensity, is this the case with Wednesday Addams or is she just smart? As we all know, a level of social awkwardness comes with having autism, let us talk about Wednesday's social behaviour. Firstly, she doesn't show much body language when talking to anyone and has somewhat abnormalities of eye contact; she doesn't blink for long periods and or doesn't have much emotion in her eyes which can make it hard for other peopleto interpret her emotions, along with alack of facial expressions and speaking in a monotonous tone -which is usual of typical autistics. Secondly, when she does feel emotion while talking to someone (upset or other) she seems to mask in that moment while trying to compute her emotions, she has a difficulty

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♿️🌈

💙 Most kids with ASD are either hypersensitive or hyposensitive to stimuli like noises, lights, touch, etc. If someone has Autism and/or PTSD, he/she may be more prone to sensory overload and startle more easily. That means there’s not much information about how typical treatment methods can or should be adjusted for patients with ASD. According to this article, a nurse could… Offer home-based services Use more visual aids, such as gradient scales to describe degrees of emotion Keep appointment times regular and predictable as much as possible Provide sensory toys or allow children to bring their own Emphasize the possibility of a “happy ending” after trauma―​“this correlates well with the documented effectiveness of social stories, narratives and role-playing in therapy involving individuals with ASD” Be mindful of how often society dismisses the emotions of autistic people Involve other trusted caregivers …and more. Essentially, the therapist should keep the child’s unique strengths and limitations in mind at each step and be open to flexibility. Remember to… Not take behavior personally Be willing to listen without pressuring him/her to talk Identify possible triggers and help him/her avoid them Remain calm and understanding when he/she is emotional Let him/her make age-appropriate choices so he/she feels in control of his/her life Be patient 💙

😷 Before beginning trauma-focused therapy it is important to stabilise the individual with emotional coping strategies and creating feelings of safety. Support strategies that have been found to be helpful in the general population include: mindfulness and grounding in the present moment creating feelings of safety (for example an object/picture that symbolises safety) sensory soothing Autistic people may require: a greater number of sessions a longer or shorter duration to each session regular breaks. 😷

😷 https://about.kaiserpermanente.org/health-and-wellness/our-care/exploring-the-promise-of-at-home-cervical-cancer-screening 😷

😷 Treatments should be appropriately adapted for autistic people and their individual needs. (Rumball et al. 2020) and Kerns et al. (2022) suggest a number of other events that autistic people found traumatic: abandonment by/loss of a loved one (for example a family member, pet or support staff) sensory experiences (for example fire alarms) transitions and change (for example school transitions, routine changes with the seasons, unpredictability in day to day life) social difficulties and confusion (for example difficulties interpreting social cues, misunderstandings and conflicts) events related to one’s own mental health difficulties (for example psychotic experiences). Autistic people may also be more likely to find these experiences traumatic due to autistic characteristics such as: sensory sensitivities communication and social interaction differences distress around changes to routines distress if prevented from taking part in repetitive and restricted behaviours such as stimming. Some theories suggest that other factors associated with being autistic, may mean an increased risk of developing or maintaining PTSD symptoms But just because symptoms aren’t crippling doesn’t mean you're not affected. 😷

ar وينزداي آدامزaz Venzdey Addams bcl Wednesday Addams ca Dimecres Addams ckb وێنزدەی ئادەمزcs Wednesday Addamsová cy Wednesday Addams en Wednesday Addams es Wednesday Addams eu Wednesday Addams fa ونزدی آدامزfi Wednesday Addams fr Mercredi Addams he ונסדיי אדמסia Mercuridi Addams it Mercoledì Addams ka უენსდეი ადამსიnl Wednesday Addams pa ਵੈਡਨੈਸਡੇ ਐਡਮਸpt Wednesday Addams ru Уэнздей Аддамс simple Wednesday Addams tr Wednesday Addams uk Венздей Аддамс uz Wednesday Addams Catalan Dimecres Addams Central Kurdish وێنزدەی ئادەمز Czech Wednesday Addamsová Greek Γουένσντεϊ Άνταμς Persian ونزدی آدامز French Mercredi Addams Hebrew ונסדיי אדמס Armenian Ուենսդեյ Ադամս Italian Mercoledì Addams, Nottola Addams, Wednesday Addams, Stellina Addams, Mercoledì Venerdì Addams Japanese ウェンズデー・アダムス Georgian უენსდეი ადამსი Korean 웬즈데이 애덤스 Punjabi ਵੈਡਨੈਸਡੇ ਐਡਮਸ Portuguese Wandinha Addams, Venenilda Addams Russian Уэнздей Аддамс, Уэнзди Аддамс, Уэнсдей Аддамс, Уэнсдэй Аддамс, Венсди Аддамс Ukrainian Вензді Аддамс

Why autistic people are like cats: - We are highly sensitive. - We don't like loud or sudden noises. - We are easily spooked and startled. - Especially because we are zoning out, like, all the time. - We love to be held and touched and petted and cuddled bUT ONLY IF IT WAS OUR IDEA! - We're picky eaters. - Easily distracted. - Solitary creatures. - Takes us a while to warm up to people and be comfortable around them. - Our idea of being "social" is just hanging around the vicinity or in the same room as other people but not necessarily interacting with them. - We are finicky, particular, meticulous creatures of habit and we have a comfort zone we will defend with our lives. - If we deem you worthy, you will be allowed into our comfort zone. - Gaining our love and trust is super rewarding because it is not easily done. Be flattered. - If you touch us unexpectedly we will flinch or jump. - We are awesome predators and get super intense about stuff one nickname for the ADHD gene is "the hunter gene") - We are cute and lovable and have a lot of personality. - Many autistic children love to feel enclosed and secure and so love secret hiding places and cubby holes (i.e., "if I fits, I sits") - We sometimes appear to freak out at nothing and scamper away for no reason but really it's because we can hear things you can't and some sounds bother us. - Because we have such hyper-sensitive senses, any snuggles you give us will be a million times more rewarding for you because you'll know and appreciate just how intensely we're enjoying them. - Please give us food or we will boop your nose in your sleep.

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😷 https://neurodivergentinsights.com/misdiagnosis-monday/ptsd-and-autism 😷

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⣇⠈⠉⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣷⣴⣿⣧ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣿⣤⣽⣿⣦⣄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢚⣿⠇ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠿⠋⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⢿⣿⠀

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ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᔆᵉᵃˢᵒⁿ ¹ ᴺᵃᵐᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᴬⁱʳᵉᵈ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰¹ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴳᵒᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᔆᶜʰᵒᵒˡ ᔆᵉᵖᵗᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹⁸⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰² ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᴾˢʸᶜʰⁱᵃᵗʳⁱˢᵗ ᔆᵉᵖᵗᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ²⁵⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰³ ᶠᵉˢᵗᵉʳ'ˢ ᴾᵘⁿᶜᵗᵘʳᵉᵈ ᴿᵒᵐᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ²⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰⁴ ᴳᵒᵐᵉᶻ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᴾᵒˡⁱᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃⁿ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ⁹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰⁵ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵀʳᵉᵉ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ¹⁶⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰⁶ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ ᴶᵒⁱⁿˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᴸᵃᵈⁱᵉˢ ᴸᵉᵃᵍᵘᵉ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ²³⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰⁷ ᴴᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵉⁿ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ³⁰⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰⁸ ᴳʳᵉᵉⁿ⁻ᴱʸᵉᵈ ᴳᵒᵐᵉᶻ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ⁶⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ⁰⁹ ᵀʰᵉ ᴺᵉʷ ᴺᵉⁱᵍʰᵇᵒʳˢ ᴹᵉᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹³⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹⁰ ᵂᵉᵈⁿᵉˢᵈᵃʸ ᴸᵉᵃᵛᵉˢ ᴴᵒᵐᵉ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ²⁰⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹¹ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴹᵉᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ⱽ‧ᴵ‧ᴾ‧'ˢ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ²⁷⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹² ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᴹᵃᵗᶜʰᵐᵃᵏᵉʳ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ⁴⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹³ ᴸᵘʳᶜʰ ᴸᵉᵃʳⁿˢ ᵗᵒ ᴰᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹⁴ ᴬʳᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹⁸⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁴ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹⁵ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴹᵉᵉᵗˢ ᵃ ᴮᵉᵃᵗⁿⁱᵏ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹⁶ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴹᵉᵉᵗˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵁⁿᵈᵉʳᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ ᴹᵃⁿ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ⁸⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹⁷ ᴹᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᴸᵘʳᶜʰ ⱽⁱˢⁱᵗˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ¹⁵⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹⁸ ᵁⁿᶜˡᵉ ᶠᵉˢᵗᵉʳ'ˢ ᴵˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ²²⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ¹⁹ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᔆᵖˡᵘʳᵍᵉˢ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ²⁹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²⁰ ᶜᵒᵘˢⁱⁿ ᴵᵗᵗ ⱽⁱˢⁱᵗˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᶠᵉᵇʳᵘᵃʳʸ ⁵⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²¹ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ⁱⁿ ᶜᵒᵘʳᵗ ᶠᵉᵇʳᵘᵃʳʸ ¹²⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²² ᴬᵐⁿᵉˢⁱᵃ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᶠᵉᵇʳᵘᵃʳʸ ¹⁹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²³ ᵀʰⁱⁿᵍ ⁱˢ ᴹⁱˢˢⁱⁿᵍ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ⁵⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²⁴ ᶜʳⁱˢⁱˢ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ¹²⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²⁵ ᴸᵘʳᶜʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴴⁱˢ ᴴᵃʳᵖˢⁱᶜʰᵒʳᵈ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ¹⁹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²⁶ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᴮʳᵉᵃᵈʷⁱⁿⁿᵉʳ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ²⁶⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²⁷ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᔆᵖᵃᶜᵉᵐᵉⁿ ᴬᵖʳⁱˡ ²⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²⁸ ᴹʸ ᔆᵒⁿ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰⁱᵐᵖ ᴬᵖʳⁱˡ ⁹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ²⁹ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ'ˢ ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳⁱᵗᵉ ᶜʰᵃʳⁱᵗʸ ᴬᵖʳⁱˡ ¹⁶⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ³⁰ ᴾʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴬᵖʳⁱˡ ²³⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ³¹ ᵁⁿᶜˡᵉ ᶠᵉˢᵗᵉʳ'ˢ ᵀᵒᵘᵖᵉᵉ ᴬᵖʳⁱˡ ³⁰⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ³² ᶜᵒᵘˢⁱⁿ ᴵᵗᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ⱽᵒᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᶜᵒᵘⁿˢᵉˡᵒʳ ᴹᵃʸ ⁷⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ³³ ᴸᵘʳᶜʰ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᵀᵉᵉⁿᵃᵍᵉ ᴵᵈᵒˡ ᴹᵃʸ ¹⁴⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰¹ᴱ³⁴ ᵀʰᵉ ᵂⁱⁿⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵒᶠ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ˢᵉᵃˢᵒⁿ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡᵉ ᴹᵃʸ ²¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᴬᴮᶜ ⁽ᵁᔆ⁾

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Info tips for practitioners w/ autism and/or sensitivities First, thank you for caring. Not trying to question your expertise in health. Now, Autism is a spectrum. It’s not something one can turn off. It’s not a choice. Most of us are not trying to be demanding. If any thing, we’re afraid of being seen as childish, picky, high maintenance, bossy, rude, etc. We can easily get overwhelmed. We want to compromise with you. If we ask for another nurse to do something or if we know we cannot handle a procedure without certain accommodations, it’s not personally attacking against you. You have the power to provide the care and provide us any options; individuals know their own personal tolerance and needs. We do not ever want to start arguments. We do not want to inconvenience you over something, as we do not feel entitled. Having sensitivities not by choice, as it is more than inconvenience but also painful. We always feel when you do your best. We’re both human, autistic or not. It is not a choice.

Hi, friends! I like emojicombos.com because it’s easy for me to use, being public domain. I also like to express myself through writing, as an author with Autism. So thank you Emoji combos and keep it up!

For Employers w/ disabled workers If a person who has a disability wants to work they might have difficulty getting jobs. There are different types of disabilities to varying degrees. First, inform them the expectations of the job. Make sure they know how to do the job as you train. Give warnings (and explain why behind the warning) before resorting to termination, as some people might not under stand what they did wrong. Even if the disability is confidential, explain to coworkers not to give the employee a hard time, without divulging. Don’t touch the employee or their belongings (including any mobility aids) without asking them first. Allow the employee extra time if necessary so as to not overwhelm them. Monitor the surroundings to make sure no harassment takes place, possible barriers to accessibility, etc. Try not to get frustrated if they do something differently than what others might do, such as note reminders, etc.

What’s disabilities? Being disabled can have various meanings. Physical disabilities are usually more visible. Even so, it might not be readily apparent. One individual can have more than one disability. But it’s not by choice, even in an elective amputation, mental disorders, ptsd vía warfare, etc. Some disabilities are more invisible, if internal or having to do with mentality. No matter what disability, it’s important to not have unreachable standards whilst at the same time not be patronising. Some disabilities are from congenital, meaning they were born with it or had their whole life. Some disabilities are acquired later in life such as an external injury they got.

|￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣| | I love my friends a lot, | | I just suck at talking | | to them regularly | |＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿| (\__/) || (•ㅅ•) || / 　 づ

💉 https://news.vanderbilt.edu/2011/09/21/bloodwork-toolkit/ 💉

😷 https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/autism-and-anxiety/201904/medical-visits-and-autism-better-way 😷

😷 https://www.findatopdoc.com/Parenting/When-a-Child-with-Autism-Refuses-Treatment 😷

💙 An Autism Specific Care Plan helps families give hospital staff important information. It tells them how to communicate and interact with the child and keep them safe. Families who use Autism Specific Care Plans feel happier with their care and feel that health care providers are better at working with their child or teen with autism. Hospitals and emergency rooms can also think about making changes to help patients with autism. Small changes can all help lower anxiety for kids and adults with autism. Some of these changes include keeping wait times short, creating a calm space, and playing a movie in the waiting area. Making sure parents are part of all medical care and treated as experts on their child can help both families and staff. Finally, hospital staff can try communicating in the way the patient prefers (talking vs. typing, etc.). 💙

𝕰𝖓𝖎𝖉❜𝖘 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖍 𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖘 - 𝔚𝔢𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔄𝔡𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔰

"disabilities aren't aesthetic" Yes, but you don't need to say this under the posts of disabled people showing off cute mobility aids, decorated med organisers, a cute bed set up, the art piece that represents their disabilities, etc. Whether theyre your fellow disabled folk or especially so if you're able-bodied/neurotypical, allow disabled people freedom of expression and the little joys they can. People cope with their disabilites in diverse ways, and sometimes that means you will see a disabled person romanticizing their life, or making their aids aesthetic. Someone existing and expressing themselves, making their lives more comfortable and enjoyable, should not be seen as ”glorifying” anything. I’m not telling anyone to go make themselves disabled, nobody should take their health for granted.

abled people: can you do the thing?? disabled people: … technically yes BUT it would hurt l/ruin my day/trigger a flare/exhaust me/be a fall risk/make me more sick AND THEN I would have to spend a day in bed/increase my dosage/cancel all my other plans/spend a week recovering afterwards abled people: … but you CAN do it

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ii (Autistic Author) Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he looks away, trying to hide his emotions. "I just want to understand," he says, his voice small. "I don't need to explain myself to you," he snaps, his eye cold and distant. But Chip is undeterred. He's seen his mother's gentle touch work wonders on his father during his seizures, so he decides to try it. He reaches out and places a small hand on Plankton's shoulder. "It's ok, Dad," he whispers. "You can tell me." Plankton flinches at the touch, his antennae stiffening. "I said it's not your business," he repeats, his voice a low growl. Karen can see the internal struggle playing out on his face, the effort it takes to maintain his anger when all he really wants is to retreat into safety. "Plankton," Karen says softly, placing her hand over Chip's. "It's ok." Her voice is a gentle reminder of the love that exists between them all, a love that has grown and adapted to Plankton's condition over the years. But anger in Plankton's eye doesn't fade. He stares at his son, his jaw tight, his antennae quivering with barely restrained frustration. Karen can feel the tension in his arm, the way his muscles are taut under her touch. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice a soothing balm. "Chip just wants to understand." But Plankton's anger doesn't dissipate. He sits there, his eye still cold and distant, his body rigid with tension. "I don't need to justify myself," he says, his voice a knife slicing through the air. Karen's heart sinks further. This was not how she had hoped the conversation would go. "Dad," Chip starts, his voice trembling. "I just want to know why-" "I SAID it's not your business," Plankton barks, his eye flashing. Plankton's anger is a storm that needs to pass before they can talk it out, and Karen doesn't want to force the issue here. Karen nods at Chip, signaling for him to give his father space. With a sad smile, she stands up and takes the frisbee from his hand. "Why don't you go play for a little while?" she suggests, her voice gentle. "Give Dad and me some time to talk." Chip nods, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He takes a few steps away before turning back to look at his dad. "I'm here if you need me," he says, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. Then he runs off, the frisbee clutched tightly in his hand. Plankton's anger lingers like a fog around him, thick and heavy. Karen can see it in the way he sits, his shoulders hunched and his antennae flat against his head. She knows he needs a moment to compose himself, to come down from overstimulation. The silence stretches between them, taut with unspoken words and fear. Plankton's gaze follows Chip as he disappears into the playground, the frisbee a small beacon of hope in his hand. Karen waits, her heart aching for the pain she knows her son is feeling, the pain she feels herself. When Plankton's breathing finally starts to slow, she decides to break the silence. "It's okay, Plankton," she says softly. "Chip just doesn't understand." Karen sighs, her eyes filled with a mix of love and sadness. "You're just wired differently. And Chip loves you for who you are." Plankton shakes his head, his antennae still flat against his skull. "He doesn't know like." Karen's eyes never leave his face, her expression a mask of patience and love. "You're right," she says. "He doesn't know. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. He's just scared. And confused. We all are sometimes." Plankton's jaw tightens, and he looks away, not meeting her gaze. "I don't need his pity party," he mutters. Karen sits next to him, her hand resting on his knee. "It's not pity, Plankton. It's just love and curiosity. He wants to know so he can help, so he can be there for you." Plankton stays silent, his eye on the distant playground where Chip is trying to fit in with the other kids. The anger is still there, a palpable presence that makes the air around them feel charged. "I know you're mad," Karen says, her voice calm and soothing. "But you know we can't keep this from him forever. He's growing up, and he needs to understand." Plankton's eye still on Chip, but the anger is slowly fading, replaced by a heavy sadness. "I don't want him to tell I'm a monster," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. Karen's heart breaks a little more. "You're not a monster," she says firmly. "You're a wonderful father, Plankton. And Chip loves you. He just doesn't understand." Plankton's gaze finally shifts to her, his eye glistening. "I don't know how to handle this," he admits, his voice strained. "I don't know how to explain it to him. I don't even understand it half the time." Karen reaches up and places a hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers. "You don't have to explain it all at once," she says gently. "We'll do it together, ok?" Plankton nods, his expression still taut with tension. He takes a deep breath and finally relaxes a bit, his antennae rising slightly. "Ok," he murmurs. Karen stands up, her hand still on his shoulder, and together, they walk over to the playground to collect Chip. His eyes light up when he sees them approaching, and he runs over, the frisbee abandoned in his excitement. "Dad, are you ok?" he asks, throwing his arms around Plankton. Plankton stiffens and gasps as Chip embraces him in a hug. Karen's heart clenches at the sight, knowing how much her husband despises sudden physical contact. "Come on, let's go home," she says gently, her hand on Chip's shoulder guiding him away from Plankton. The walk home is quiet, each step punctuated by the thump of Chip's sneakers against the pavement. Karen's on her husband, his shoulders slumped and his gaze cast downward. As they enter the house, the familiar creaks and groans of the floorboards welcome them home. Plankton heads straight for his workshop, the place where he finds solace in the chaos of the world. Chip trails behind, his eyes glued to his father's retreating back. "Dad?" he calls out tentatively. Plankton pauses, his antennae drooping slightly, but doesn't turn around. Karen can see the turmoil in her son's eyes, the unanswered questions weighing him down. "Why don't you go to your room, Chip?" she suggests softly. "I'll talk to Dad." With a nod, Chip heads upstairs, his footsteps echoing through the house. Karen watches him go before turning to Plankton. "Let's go sit down," she says, leading him into the living room. She knows he'll need some time to recover from the onslaught of emotions that come with it. In the dim light of the room, Plankton slumps into the worn armchair, his eye avoiding hers. Karen takes a seat on the couch opposite him, her hands folded in her lap. "We need to talk about this," she says gently. "You can't just push Chip away when something like this happens." He's silent for a long moment, his antennae twitching nervously. "I know," he says finally, his voice gruff. "It's just... I don't know how to deal with it. With him seeing me like that." Karen's heart goes out to him. She knows the fear that comes with the unknown, the fear of being judged, of losing the ones you love because they don't understand. She takes a deep breath and speaks softly. "You don't have to deal with it alone, Plankton. We're a family. We're in this together." Plankton doesn't respond immediately, his gaze still fixed on the floor. But slowly, his antennae start to rise, a sign that he's listening, that he's starting to come out of his shell. Karen waits, giving him the space he needs. Finally, he looks up, his eye meeting hers. "I've always tried to be a good father," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "You are," Karen reassures. "You're the best father Chip could ask for." Plankton nods, his antennae relaxing slightly. "But I don't know how to explain it to him," he says, his voice tight. "I don't want him to..." "To what?" Karen prompts, her tone gentle. "I don't want him to think of me as... less than," Plankton murmurs, his gaze flickering towards the stairs where Chip had disappeared. "To gawk, nor to prompt.." Karen crosses the room and takes his hand, her touch a comforting presence. "He doesn't think that," she says firmly. "He just wants to know so he can help. And so he doesn't have to be scared." Plankton sighs, his shoulders slumping further. "I know," he admits. "But it's hard, Karen." Karen nods, her grip on his hand tightening. "I know it is, but we can't keep this from him forever. He's going to have questions, and he deserves answers. I’ll let him back now." With a deep breath, Plankton nods.

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS i (Autistic Author) Karen went to the park. Her husband, Plankton, sat by her. Karen glanced over and saw the soft smile on his face, a smile that had greeted her every morning for the past twenty-five or so years. The park was alive with laughter, the distant sound of a ball bouncing off the pavement and the occasional squawk from a seagull. Plankton's eye were closed, his breathing slow and steady. He was enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun on his face. Suddenly, their adopted son Chip burst into their peaceful scene, his cheeks flushed from running. He was holding a frisbee that had strayed from its intended path, and he called out to them with the enthusiasm of a young boy who had discovered something wonderful. "Look what I found!" he exclaimed, oblivious to the delicate moment he was interrupting. Plankton jolts. Karen's notices her husband's sudden movement. His eye open wide, and he stares into the distance unseeing, unblinking. She knows the signs all too well. Plankton is having one of his shutdowns. But Chip's dart between the frisbee and his parents, sensing something amiss. "Dad?" Chip says, tentatively. Karen jumps up and grabs Plankton's arm, gently squeezing to bring him back. "It's ok, honey," she whispers, her voice steady. Chip's smile fades as he sees his father's unresponsive state. He drops the frisbee, forgotten in his grip, and takes a cautious step closer. "What's happening?" he asks, his voice cracking. Plankton's body remains eerily still, like a statue. The only indication that he's alive is the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Karen's eyes dart around the area, checking if anyone has noticed. She doesn't want to draw unwanted attention. "It's ok, Dad's just taking a little break," she murmurs, setting the frisbee aside. He's never seen these before, nor knows the drill. Chip takes in Plankton's unblinking gaze. Karen feels a pang of guilt for keeping this part of Plankton's condition hidden from their kid. But it's a dance they've been performing for years, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy amidst Plankton's condition. Karen focuses solely on Plankton, willing him to come back to her. She feels the warmth of his hand under hers, but there's no response, no squeeze, no recognition of her touch. Karen's gaze is fixed on her husband's face, searching for any hint of life, any flicker of consciousness. She whispers his name, a soft mantra, trying to anchor him to reality. But Chip doesn't understand. His eyes are wide, full of fear and confusion as he watches his dad frozen in place. "What's a 'little break'?" he asks, voice trembling. Karen's heart tightens; she's always shielded Chip, hoping to spare him the worry and fear. "It's like when you zone out," she explains gently, hoping to relate it to something he might have experienced. "Remember when you were playing video games and I had to call you for dinner three times before you heard me?" Chip nods slowly, still glued to Plankton's unmoving form. "It's like that," Karen continues, "But for Dad, it happens without warning." Chip nods again, trying to process this new information. He's always known his dad was different, but seeing him like this is something he's never had to face before. He takes a deep breath and tries to hold back his tears, not wanting to scare Plankton when he wakes up. "What do we do?" he whispers, his voice shaky. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand gently, never leaving his face. "Just wait," she instructs Chip calmly. "These usually don't last long. But if you need to, you can tell anyone who asks that he's okay, just deep in thought." Chip nods, trying to mimic his mother's calm demeanor, but his eyes betray his anxiety. He's never seen his dad like this, never knew that these moments of stillness were a part of him. Plankton's condition, a form of autism, can leave him with anger issues and overload. Karen feels the weight of the secret they've kept from Chip all these years. Plankton's autistic neurodivergence had always been a part of their lives, but they had shielded their son from the full extent of it. They had hoped he would understand when he was older, but now the moment had come unplanned, and she wasn't sure if ready. "Why does Dad zone out?" Chip asks, his voice small. Karen sighs, deciding it's time for the truth. She sits down next to Plankton, keeping her hand on his arm. "Dad has something called 'neurodivergence', Chip. It's like his brain works differently than ours. Sometimes it helps him see the world in amazing ways, but it can also be hard for him. These little breaks are his brain's way of processing." Chip stares at her, trying to grasp the concept. "So, he's not just ignoring us?" "No, sweetie," Karen says. "He's not ignoring us. It's like his brain needs a time-out, like when you play for to long and your phone heats up and/or dies, but will still work eventually." The wind picks up, rustling through the leaves above them, and a chill runs down Chip's spine. He nods slowly, watching his dad's chest rise and fall in the silence. It's strange to see someone so still, so quiet, yet so obviously alive. "But why haven't you told me before?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes well up with tears she quickly blinks away. "We wanted to protect you," she admits. "I didn't want you to be scared and he doesn’t want you to think of him differently." "But it's okay to think differently," Chip argues, his voice growing stronger. "Dad's always been there for me, even if he doesn't hug me a lot." Karen smiles sadly, stroking Plankton's arm. "It's not just about thinking differently, Chip. It's about how his brain processes things. Sometimes, too much sensory input can overwhelm him. That's why he might seem distant or not as affectionate as other dads. It's not because he doesn't like you," she reassures him. "It's because hugging or loud noises can be really intense for him." Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "So, that's why he doesn't like it when I jump on him?" "Yes," Karen nods. "But it doesn't mean he loves you any less. He just shows it in his own way. Like when he spends hours helping you build that Lego castle, or when he makes those amazing sea creature sculptures that you love so much." Chip's shoulders slump, and he sits down on the bench beside his mother, staring at his dad with a newfound curiosity. "Does he know I know now?" "I don't think so, honey," Karen says, her voice still low and soothing. "These episodes usually last just a few minutes. It's like he's somewhere else, but he'll come back to us." The park's sounds swirl around them, muffled by the tension that has settled in the air. Karen watches Plankton's expression, waiting for the telltale twitch of his antennae that signals his return to the present. Finally, Plankton blinks and looks at Karen, his gaze momentarily unfocused before recognition floods back into his eye. He looks around, startled by his surroundings, and then at Chip, who is staring at him. "What happened?" Plankton asks, his voice groggy. Karen releases a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "You had one of your zoning-out moments," she says, her voice calm and gentle. Plankton looks at her, then at Chip, who is watching him with a mix of curiosity and fear. "I did?" Plankton's antennae twitch, and he rubs his head. "Yes," Karen says, her hand still on his arm. "Chip found a frisbee, remember?" Plankton's gaze shifts to the frisbee lying forgotten on the ground, then back to his son. He nods slowly, piecing the moments before together. "Ah," he murmurs, a hint of embarrassment crossing his face. Chip's curiosity outweighs his fear as he looks at his father. "Can I ask?" he asks tentatively. Karen nods, her heart swelling with pride at his bravery. "Of course, Chip." Chip looks at his dad, filled with questions. "Why’d you zone out?" he asks, his voice still hushed. "It's none of your business Chip," Plankton snaps, his eye flashing with a sudden fury that takes both Karen and Chip aback. His voice is harsh, the words cutting through the stillness of the park. Karen's heart sinks as she sees the hurt on Chip's face. Plankton's anger, a common side effect of his overload, surfaces without warning. She knows he doesn't mean it, but the sting is real for their son.

Children with autism exhibit a higher general and anxietʏ, due to altered sensory sensibilities. Autism or autistic disorder is a severe developmental disability that is characterised by an impairment in mutual social interactions, communication skills, and repetitive patterns of behaviours. They can also show an increased sensitivity to sounds, light, odours, and colours. The attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) was the most common disorder associated with the autistic group (71%) and the epilepsy with the control group (52%) (P < 0.089) It's important for the clinicians to know how to manage these affecting patıents in developmental age, ensuring an adequate and minimally invasive management using a prompt approach, when possible. So, a good communication can help to establish trust and build needed cooperation throughout the visit and treatment. All patıents in developmental age, especially with health disorders, need experienced doctors who know how to face promptly tr4uma under general anaesthesia, if possible. Moreover, a parent-reported questionnaire method would also help overcome this deficiency, provided that the parents remember all past tr4uma events of their children. Respondents often cited conflict between understanding the additional needs for successful treatment of autistic patıents and a lack of resources to implement support strategies. Despite this, some were positive about making the necessary modifications to support autistic patıents. Professionals should adapt their practises to meet the needs of their autistic patıents. Autism is a developmental condition associated with social communication difficulties, and the presence of rigid, repetitive behaviours and atypical sensory sensitivities. As such, the nature of procedures and the treatment environment may prove a particularly challenging area for individuals on the autistic spectrum. In particular, sensory atypicalities may pose a barrier to treatment. Many autistic individuals are hypersensitive to a multitude of stimuli such as bright lights, noise and touch. Further autism-specific challenges include communication difficulties between practitioner and patient, which has been reported to be a key element in failed or unpleasant visits for autistic adults. Given the bidirectional nature of communication, the practitioner clearly plays a crucial role in overcoming this area of challenge. Autistic people have reported significant difficulties in accessing adequate care. Five main themes emerged from these responses: (1) understanding individual needs, (2) the key role of communication, (3) the value of autism specific techniques; (4) a conflict between needs and resources and (5) positive and rewarding work. To ensure successful treatment, the individual needs of each patient needs to be taken into consideration, as it affects each client differently. Given the variability in needs and preferences of autistic people, an overreliance on personal experiences may lead to professionals offering 'one-size-fits-all' accommodations, consequently producing more discomfort for the patıents. It was encouraging, however, to see a number of respondents in the current study flag up an understanding of this individuality, and the need for a tailored approach. Indeed, a considerable number of respondents reported not being aware of any techniques available to reduce possible discomfort in autistic patıents. Autism (congenital or acquired) and symptoms are not a chøice.

Sensory inputs can be any stimuli entering through one of the sensory modalities: sight, sound, gustation, olfaction, and tactile sensations. Tactile sensations include responses to pressure and temperature. Over stimulation is the product of sensory overload. Overstimulation (OS) occurs when there is “to much” of some external stimulus or stimuli for a person's brain to process and integrate effectively. Sensory overload can be triggered by a singular event or a build up thereof. When the brain has to put all of its resources into sensory processing, it can shut off other functions, like speech, decision making and information processing. Using noise-cancelling headphones to vastly reduce external sound, which can help to stop sensory over load. Weighted sensory products, such as blankets or vests, to provide pressure and soothing proprioceptive input. Avoiding open questions – if you need their input on something, aim to use closed yes/no questions. It causes feelings of discomfort and being overwhelmed. Moving away from sources of sensory input, such as loud sounds or strong smells, can reduce these feelings. However, it is a core characteristic of autism, where individuals often experience heightened sensitivity to stimuli. It's important to note that not all autistic individuals experience overstimulation in the same way or to the same degree. Some may have a higher threshold for sensory input and be less easily overwhelmed, while others may become overstimulated even in relatively calm environments. Stimming, short for self-stimulating behaviors, is a repetitive movement or action that can include body movements, vocal noises, or sensory stimulation. It can be a way to manage excess energy, self-soothe, or cope with emotions. Stimming can also help regulate sensory input, either increasing stimulation or decreasing sensory overload. Stimming behaviors can consist of tactile, visual, auditory, vocal, proprioceptive (which pertains to limb sensing), olfactory, and vestibular stimming (which pertains to balance).

See both the person and the disability. On one hand, not seeing the person may lead you to introduce them as "my autistic friend," stereotype them, or treat them like a child. On the other, refusing to acknowledge the disability and not accommodating their needs is also unhelpful. Strike a balance by treating their differences as natural, and overall unremarkable. Be clear about how you feel and what you want. Autistic people may not pick up hints or cues, so it's best to directly state your feelings. This helps eliminate confusion on both ends, and that way if the autistic person has upset you, they have the opportunity to make amends and learn from it. Warning: In most cases, people with autism are unable to cope when under pressure, so don't pressure them. Ask questions about how you can be accommodating and helpful. Get insight on how to relate to this person by talking with them about what it is like for them in particular to live as an autistic person. You may find that they want to share and can tell you lots of useful information that will help you to relate to them better. When applying this information, be sure to consider your autistic loved one as an individual, and remember that each step won't always apply to each person.

The following link https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-018-05112-1 if read it shows Hans Asperger’s involvement w/ Nasi propaganda promoting problematic ideals calling autistics as psychopaths and deemed unfit in

There is no one-size-fits-all approach for autism Understand that every autistic person is different. Tailor treatment to the individual's needs. For example, one autistic person may have excellent self-care skills and above-average school performance, but need sensory integration therapy and social skills training. Another might be highly social but unable to care for herself and in need of counseling for depression.

Neurodivergence* are just as physical as other disabilities. why are changes in your brain, nerves, gut, hormones, senses, and energy levels only considered physical if they're caused by literally anything else? have we considered that the separation of the mind from the rest of the body is just a way of minimizing and othering ND people? *neurodivergent refers to people with mental illnesses, developmental and intellectual disabilities, and other neurological conditions.

Please don't touch me or stand too close. I have an Autistic Spectrum Condition. I process sensations differently. Sometimes I Can't cope with touch or physical contact. 4 ways to manage autism, anxiety and sensory overload Choose sensory-friendly events and places Choose sensory- friendly features • Fewer lights • Less background music • Noise blocking headphones • Calming rooms • Weighted blanket Make sensory experience shorter Reduce sensory experience • Take breaks from busy, noisy and bright places • Noise blocking headphones • Sunglasses For example, a child who has difficulty with the feeling of clothing and thus has difficulty getting dressed shows hypersensitivity. As a result, that child can experience sensory overload from clothing. It is also important to know that a toddler refusing to get dressed because they are exerting their independence or would rather play or do something else is not a child experiencing sensory overload. That is not hypersensitivity. That is normal for toddlers. So choose sensory-friendly providers or products. In particular, that helps people whose anxiety is made worse by what they experience from their senses. Hollander, E., & Burchi, E. (2018). Anxiety in Autism Spectrum Disorder. Anxiety & Depression Association of America

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NEURODIVERSITY Neurodiversity is the concept that insta: anthonymakessomeart differences in brain development, such as "Neurodivergent" is used to describe people who have different, or atypical, autism and adhd, are natural differences brain development, while "neurotypical" that should be accepted, like differences is used to describe people who have in hair texture or eye color. typical brain development. They are different, but equally deserving of acceptance and respect! The concept of naturally diverse brains is important to neurodivergent people because not only does it encourage acceptance from other people, but it encourages us to accept ourselves. It helps us to see that even though we are different, there is nothing wrong with us. It can also help neurodivergent people get the support they need, since accepting that everyone's brain functions differently means accepting that everyone needs help in different areas.

Best Practices for Encouraging Special Interests in Children with Autism What Helps • Encouraging conversation about interest • Paying attention to non-verbal cues • Engaging in activity about interest • Allowing children to keep objects related to interest • Taking note of circumstances that promote calmness • Using interest as motivation for desired behaviors What Hurts • Treating the interest like it's boring • Ignoring non-verbal cues or gestures • Disengaging from the conversation • Forcing a discussion unrelated to the interest • Demanding that children think about other subjects • Leveraging interest as punishment

autistic-reptile love languages of autistics: • sending them posts/pictures related to their special interest them • talking to them while you're both looking in another direction so there's no pressure to make eye contact • making/buying them their same food • determining their happy stims and anxious stims so you know how they're feeling • specifying when you're being sarcastic/joking • sitting in the same room together in silence while you both do your own thing • prompting them to info dump (and listening) • • having extra earplugs/sunglasses/other sensory aids for them when they forget

💙 https://www.verywellhealth.com/guardianship-for-adults-with-autism-4165687 💙

💙 PFA TIPS: PAIN MANAGEMENT AND AUTISM By Alizah Patterson, MD, Pediatric Resident, PL-3 , The Herman & Walter Samuelson Children’s Hospital at Sinai Download a printable version of “Pain Management and Autism “ Sensory stimulation can be perceived very differently in people with autism spectrum disorder. It is common for children to be averse to certain types of taste, texture, and flavors. How they perceive pain, however, is not very well understood. Some people believe that people with autism may have a decreased sense of pain, but pain can manifest in different ways. Identifying and managing pain can be challenging for both healthcare providers and parents. Methods to assess pain Assessing pain in children can often be a challenge for providers and parents. For older children, the number pain scale is typically used with 0 representing no pain and 10 being the worst pain imaginable. The faces pain scale allows children to choose a face – images range from happy to crying – that shows how their pain is making them feel. For children who are nonverbal, the FLACC score is often utilized. This method looks at Facial expression, Leg positioning, Activity level, Crying and Consolability. This pain scale requires more time but can reliably assess pain responses in neurotypical individuals. People with ASD or intellectual disability, or any type of cognitive impairment may express pain in other ways and may require a customized FLACC scale. This would incorporate individualized pain behaviors which is more reliable in detecting pain in individuals with cognitive impairment. Again, this would require additional time and understanding of the scale. Research on autism and pain Not much research has been done on the topic of autism and pain, partly due to the challenges of assessing pain in children with communication difficulty and partly due to the common belief that people with autism have decreased sensitivity to pain or a high pain threshold. Studies conducted with people with high-functioning ASD tend to use a pain scale of 0-10. On this scale, patients tend to respond with lower numbers, but other methods of rating pain have shown varying results. Some studies have used observations of providers or parents, which also tended to show decreased sensitivity to pain in children with autism. Other studies have challenged the idea that people with autism experience less pain. These studies found that pain is expressed differently among those with autism. One study comparing children with autism, children with intellectual disabilities, and neurotypical children showed that both behavioral changes and physiologic changes (i.e. heart rate) were higher with pain, but face scores did not vary among the groups. Some case studies have found that when asked their pain score, verbal individuals with ASD respond with low scores, but when asked how much discomfort they have, the score tends to be higher. How does pain manifest in children with autism? Children with ASD may not express pain in typical ways – crying, moaning, or withdrawing from a painful stimulus – and therefore may often be labeled as less sensitive to pain. Several case studies have shown that though children may not show these typical signs or may not react to pain in the moment, they still have physiologic reactions and behavioral reactions. Even with no obvious reaction to a painful stimulus, they may start breathing fast or their heart rate may increase. They may have increased stimming behaviors, aggression, or anxiety after the painful incident. Individuals with ASD also tend to show behavior changes for longer after the painful incident than neurotypical children or children with intellectual disabilities. When assessing for pain in a nonverbal child with ASD, close attention should be paid to increased aggression, self-injurious behaviors, stimming, or any behavior that is not typical for that child. If they are acting unlike themselves, look for a possible source of discomfort or pain that may be present or was present in the near past. In a more verbal child, asking if they have pain or if something hurts may not accurately reflect what they are feeling. Using words such as “discomfort”, “uncomfortable”, or “anxiety” may better approximate the level of pain they are in. What can I do about my child’s pain? If a source of pain can be identified, treating that pain is of utmost importance. Treatment would be the same as for any other child—analgesics such as Tylenol or ibuprofen, ice, or heat (if tolerated), and rest. Parents and providers should be wary of hidden injuries that the patient may not be able to communicate about, such as a fracture or insect bite. If the source of pain cannot be identified or you are unsure of the severity of the injury/illness, always err on the side of caution and have a physician assess your child. They should do a full skin exam to look for scratches, bites, rashes, or other injuries. If an injury is suspected to a limb, x-rays may be needed to rule out a fracture. If no clear injury or illness can be identified, parents and providers should look for other possible medical causes for the behavior changes, like abdominal pain, headache, or urinary tract infection. For pain management during painful or stress-inducing medical procedures, like a blood draw, there are several techniques that can be used. Non-pharmacologic (medication) methods are preferred. Every child may respond differently to these techniques, so some trial and error may be necessary to determine the best method for your child. • Distraction: If your child has a preferred activity, engaging them in this activity during the procedure may significantly reduce their focus on pain. This could include watching a show, blowing bubbles, deep breaths, playing with a toy, or calming movements such as a parent rocking them. • Sensory distractions: There are several items that can be used to distract a child’s senses from the painful stimulus. A vibrating device or ice placed on the area of a blood draw or lumbar puncture can reduce the pain signal sent to the brain. • Topical pain control: There are a few topical medications that can be used to reduce pain sensation. A cooling spray at the site of the procedure is quick and easy. A numbing gel or cream can also be applied 20-30 minutes prior to the procedure, which has been shown to be an effective way to manage pain during IV sticks. However, this has not been shown to reduce anxiety or fear during procedures. • Deep pressure: Firm pressure, through squeezing or a tight hug, has been shown to significantly decrease anxiety and stress in individuals with autism. This method can also be used during medical procedures to decrease discomfort. Every child is different though, so deep pressure may be too much sensory stimulation for some. Medications can also be used to control pain, as well as anxiety, during medical procedures. Pre-medication with acetaminophen or ibuprofen may be helpful in reducing pain. For extremely painful procedures, an opioid may also be reasonable, per a physician’s assessment. Anti-anxiety medications may be helpful in reducing not only anxiety but also pain as they are typically slightly sedating. If you feel it is right for your child, discuss these options with your physician. When it comes to pain management in autism, remember these key points: • Always rule out pain when atypical behaviors occur or when certain behaviors increase. • Children are all different, whether in how their pain manifests or in what strategies work best to control their pain. • There are lots of non-medication options to help manage pain and anxiety during medical procedures. 💙

💙 https://www.spectrumnews.org/features/deep-dive/unseen-agony-dismantling-autisms-house-of-pain/ 💙

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If feasible, other tests the patient fears might be performed while the patient is sedated. For example, before or after dental work, vaccines could be administered, blood could be drawn, and gynaecology or other physical exams could be done. This practise requires coordination and communication among providers. 💙 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3708482/

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https://www.spectrumnews.org/features/deep-dive/unseen-agony-dismantling-autisms-house-of-pain/

"ᴺᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵏⁿⁱᶠᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ˢʷᵒʳᵈ ᶠⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵘⁿˡᵉˢˢ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᶜᵒⁿᶜᵉᵃˡᵉᵈ" ⁻ᵂᵉᵈⁿᵉˢᵈᵃʸ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ

ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ˢᵉᵃˢᵒⁿ ² ᴺᵃᵐᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᴬⁱʳᵉᵈ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰¹ ᴹʸ ᶠᵃⁱʳ ᶜᵒᵘˢⁱⁿ ᴵᵗᵗ ᔆᵉᵖᵗᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹⁷⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰² ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ'ˢ ᴿᵒᵐᵃⁿᶜᵉ ⁽¹⁾ ᔆᵉᵖᵗᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ²⁴⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰³ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ'ˢ ᴿᵒᵐᵃⁿᶜᵉ ⁽²⁾ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰⁴ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ ᴹᵉᵉᵗˢ ᴿᵒʸᵃˡᵗʸ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ⁸⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰⁵ ᴳᵒᵐᵉᶻ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᴾᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ'ˢ ᶜʰᵒⁱᶜᵉ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ¹⁵⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰⁶ ᶜᵒᵘˢⁱⁿ ᴵᵗᵗ'ˢ ᴾʳᵒᵇˡᵉᵐ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ²²⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰⁷ ᴴᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵉⁿ ⁻ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᔆᵗʸˡᵉ ᴼᶜᵗᵒᵇᵉʳ ²⁹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰⁸ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᵂʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ⁵⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ⁰⁹ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᔆᶜᵘˡᵖᵗʳᵉˢˢ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹²⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹⁰ ᴳᵒᵐᵉᶻ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᴿᵉˡᵘᶜᵗᵃⁿᵗ ᴸᵒᵛᵉʳ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹⁹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹¹ ᶠᵉᵘᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴺᵒᵛᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ²⁶⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹² ᴳᵒᵐᵉᶻ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃᵗ ᴮᵘʳᵍˡᵃʳ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ³⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹³ ᴾᵒʳᵗʳᵃⁱᵗ ᵒᶠ ᴳᵒᵐᵉᶻ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹⁰⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹⁴ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ'ˢ ᴰⁱˡᵉᵐᵐᵃ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ¹⁷⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹⁵ ᶜʰʳⁱˢᵗᵐᵃˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ²⁴⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹⁶ ᵁⁿᶜˡᵉ ᶠᵉˢᵗᵉʳ⸴ ᵀʸᶜᵒᵒⁿ ᴰᵉᶜᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ³¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁵ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹⁷ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴳᵒᵐᵉᶻ ᵛˢ‧ ᶠᵉˢᵗᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵈᵐᵃᵐᵃ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ⁷⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹⁸ ᶠᵉˢᵗᵉʳ ᴳᵒᵉˢ ᵒⁿ ᵃ ᴰⁱᵉᵗ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ¹⁴⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ¹⁹ ᵀʰᵉ ᴳʳᵉᵃᵗ ᵀʳᵉᵃˢᵘʳᵉ ᴴᵘⁿᵗ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ²¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²⁰ ᴼᵖʰᵉˡⁱᵃ ᶠⁱⁿᵈˢ ᴿᵒᵐᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᴶᵃⁿᵘᵃʳʸ ²⁸⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²¹ ᴾᵘᵍˢˡᵉʸ'ˢ ᴬˡˡᵒʷᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᶠᵉᵇʳᵘᵃʳʸ ⁴⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²² ᴴᵃᵖᵖʸ ᴮⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ⸴ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵈᵐᵃ ᶠʳᵘᵐᵖ ᶠᵉᵇʳᵘᵃʳʸ ¹¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²³ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ⸴ ᵗʰᵉ ᴰᵉᶜᵒʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᶠᵉᵇʳᵘᵃʳʸ ¹⁸⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²⁴ ᴼᵖʰᵉˡⁱᵃ ⱽⁱˢⁱᵗˢ ᴹᵒʳᵗⁱᶜⁱᵃ ᶠᵉᵇʳᵘᵃʳʸ ²⁵⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²⁵ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᶜᵘᵐ ᴸᵃᵘᵈᵉ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ⁴⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²⁶ ᶜᵃᵗ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ¹¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²⁷ ᴸᵘʳᶜʰ'ˢ ᴸⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᴴᵉˡᵖᵉʳ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ¹⁸⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²⁸ ᵀʰᵉ ᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ ᴾᵒˡⁱᶜʸ ᴹᵃʳᶜʰ ²⁵⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ²⁹ ᴸᵘʳᶜʰ'ˢ ᴳʳᵃⁿᵈ ᴿᵒᵐᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᴬᵖʳⁱˡ ¹⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᔆ⁰²ᴱ³⁰ ᴼᵖʰᵉˡⁱᵃ'ˢ ᶜᵃʳᵉᵉʳ ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵃˡᵉ ᴬᵖʳⁱˡ ⁸⸴ ¹⁹⁶⁶ ᴬᴮᶜ ⁽ᵁᔆ⁾

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS iv (Autistic Author) With Chip's curiosity still piqued, Karen leads the way to Plankton's bedroom. She knows her husband needs time to process his own feelings, but she also knows that Chip's desire to understand is genuine. As they approach and crack open the door, they see Plankton in the bed on his back. He's asleep, the only sound in the room being soft snores. The room is dimly lit, with only the glow of a nightlight casting a gentle hue across his face. His antennae still, and his body is relaxed, a stark contrast to the tension that had consumed him earlier. Chip looks at his dad with a mix of fear and curiosity, unsure of what to do or say. Karen motions for Chip to come closer, her eyes never leaving Plankton's peaceful form. "Look," she whispers, her hand hovering over Plankton's shoulder. "You can touch him like this." Karen's hand lightly brushes against Plankton's arm, her touch as soft as a feather. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, but he doesn't wake up. His snoring doesn't change, but she can feel the tension in his muscles ease slightly. "You see?" she murmurs. "Just a way of saying 'I'm here, and I love you' without overwhelming him." Chip nods, his eyes glued to the demonstration. His small hand reaches out tentatively, mimicking the gentle strokes Karen had shown him. Plankton's body relaxes further, and Karen feels a glimmer of hope. "Just like that," she whispers, her hand guiding Chip's. "It's all about being gentle and understanding. And when he's ready, he'll show you his love in his own way." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. He's trying so hard to be strong, but Karen can see the fear and confusion in the way his little hands tremble. "Ok, let's go," she whispers, leading Chip out of the room. "We'll give him some time to rest. And when he wakes up, we'll talk to him again." In the hallway, Chip's questions come in a rush. "But what do we say? What do we do?" Karen crouches down to meet his gaze, her expression serious. "We're going to keep trying, okay?" she says, wiping a tear from his cheek. "We'll learn together how to be there for Daddy without making him feel overwhelmed." Chip nods, his voice a whisper. "I don't want to make him mad," he says, his eyes filling with fear. "You didn't make him mad," Karen reassures him, her voice calm. "You just surprised him. And it's okay to be surprised. But now we know how to handle it better." Later in the early evening, Karen hears Plankton's footsteps as he makes his way back into the living room. The room is still, the only sound the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Plankton’s antennae are still, his eye no longer flashing so much with anger. He looks at Karen and Chip, who are sitting on the couch. “Hey, buddy,” Karen says, her voice tentative but hopeful. “How are you feeling?” Plankton sighs heavily, his antennae drooping slightly. “Tired,” he admits, his voice gruff. “But somewhat better.” Chip looks up at his father. “Hey, Dad,” he says softly. Plankton’s eye flicks to him, then back to the floor. “Chip,” he responds, his voice flat but almost sounding surprised. Karen sees the opening she’s been waiting for and jumps in. “Why don’t you sit with us, Plankton?” she suggests, patting the cushion next to her. After a moment's hesitation, Plankton lowers himself onto the couch, his antennae dropping slightly in defeat. He doesn’t look at either of them, focusing instead on the floorboards. Karen takes a deep breath, her heart racing with a mix of hope and trepidation. Karen takes a deep breath, her hand reaching for Chip's. "Chip found a cool rock at the park today." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, and he looks up at Chip. "A rock, huh?" he asks, his tone neutral. "Yeah," Chip says, his voice small. "It's got all these cool colors, like the ocean." He holds out the rock, a silent peace offering. Plankton looks at the rock, his eye narrowing slightly as he takes it. His antennae twitch, but there's a glimmer of something else in his gaze—interest, maybe, or a hint of softness. He turns it over in his hand, inspecting it. "It's... nice," he murmurs. Karen squeezes Chip's hand, her heart swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something new. "Why don't you tell him more about it?" she prompts gently. "It's got these little specks that sparkle in the light," he says, his voice gaining a bit of excitement. "I think it's a special rock." Plankton looks. "It is," he says, his voice a little less gruff. He looks at Karen, his eye searching hers. She nods encouragingly. “How was your day?” Plankton asks, his voice tentative. “It was okay,” Chip replies, still focused on the rock. “Just okay?” Plankton asks, his antennae lifting slightly. Chip nods, his gaze shifting to his dad. Chip sniffs. Plankton sets the rock down on the coffee table with a gentle thud, his antennae twitching with concern. “What, son?” Karen’s heart skips a beat, hoping this small act of kindness is a step towards a more open conversation. Chip's eyes dart between his parents, unsure how much to share. Karen gives him a nod of encouragement. “It was just a bit... scary at the park today,” Chip admits, his voice shaky. “Remember when we talked after the park?” Karen reminds him gently. Plankton’s antennae droop, and he nods, visibly trying to control his emotions. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I remember.” “Chip didn’t mean to upset you,” Karen says, her voice gentle. “He just wanted to understand what was happening. He’s curious, like all kids are. And when he saw you like that, he was scared. He just wanted to make sure you were okay and to help if he could.” “Hm.” Plankton says neutrally. Karen takes a deep breath and continues. “Chip’s been asking me a lot of questions, and I think it’s important we talk to him about yo...” Plankton sighs. "You know I hate talking about it." Karen nods. "I know," she says, her voice soothing. "But Chip's worried about you. He loves you, and he wants to know how he can help." Chip looks up at his dad, his eyes wide and earnest. "I just want you to be happy," he says, his voice trembling. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand, her voice gentle. "Chip wants to know what's going on with you, Plankton," she says. "He's not trying to be nosy or annoying. He's trying to understand what to do or not do." Plankton's antennae twitch, and he nods slowly. "I know," he murmurs. "It's just..." Karen's eyes are filled with understanding. "It's hard to be vulnerable, I know," she says. "But we need to help our son understand." Plankton looks at Chip, his expression unreadable. "Okay," he says finally. "I'll talk to him." Chip's eyes light up, hope shining through his tears. "Really?" "Really," Plankton says with a sigh, his antennae relaxing slightly. "But it's going to be on my terms, okay?" Karen nods. "Of course." Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae drooping slightly as he steels himself for the conversation. "So, Chip," he says, his voice a little softer. "You know how sometimes you get really, really tired and need to sit down and rest?" Chip nods eagerly, his eyes fixed on his father's face. "Yeah, I know that feeling," he says. "Well, it's kind of like that," he says. "But for me, it's not just about being tired. It's like my brain needs a little break sometimes. And when it does, I might not be able to talk or move for a bit." Chip nods, his grip on Karen's hand loosening as he listens intently. "But why don't you tell us when you need a break?" he asks. "Sometimes, it happens too fast for me to say anything," Plankton explains. "It's like my brain just decides to take a little vacation without asking permission." Karen's filled with a mix of pride and sadness as she watches her son and husband finally discussing this openly. "So, when you get like that," Chip says, his voice tentative, "is it like you're in a dream?" Plankton glances at him, his antennae still. "In a way, yes," he says slowly. "It's like I'm not really here, but I can still sense." Chip nods, his curiosity unabated. "What do you sense?" Plankton takes a moment to consider his words. "I can still hear, but without comprehending," he says, "and feel things around me, but it's like... like everything's muffled, and I'm watching from far away." Chip looks thoughtful. "Can you tell when it's happening?" Plankton nods, his antennae lifting slightly. "Sometimes," he admits. "But not always."

COMPUTER SENSORS vi ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * "It's like his brain turned up the volume on everything," Hanna murmurs, finally understanding the gravity of Plankton's condition. "Exactly," Karen says, her voice still low and soothing. "It's a constant barrage of sensory information for him." Hanna nods, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Karen. "What exactly happened when I...I jabbed him?" "It's like his brain took a brief vacation from reality." She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "It's a sudden break from consciousness, usually triggered by a sensory overload. In Plankton's case, it's often unexpected, like a surprise party his brain wasn't ready for." "So, when I jabbed him during the game, it was like...like I flipped a switch?" Karen's expression is a mix of sadness and patience. "More like turned up the volume on an amp that was already at max," she says. "It's like his brain took a short break from processing all the sensory input." "Oh," she whispers, her voice a soft echo of regret. "I had no idea." Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like when you're trying to listen to someone in a crowded room. Sometimes the noise just gets too much, and you have to tune out for a second to keep from getting overwhelmed." Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's sleeping form. "But what happened earlier," she whispers. "When he went to his room?" Karen's gaze follows Hanna's to Plankton, understanding dawns on her face. "Oh, you noticed," she says gently. "His sensory overloads can be gradual. Sometimes it's like a pot boiling over, but other times it's more like a slow simmer that gets out of control." "What do you mean?" Karen's gaze remains on Plankton, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like earlier," she explains. "In the bedroom. He was getting overwhelmed, but it was happening so gradually, he didn't realize it." She looks at Hanna, filled with the patience of experience. "It's like when you're in a conversation and someone keeps talking louder and louder, and you don't notice until you're shouting just to be heard." Hanna nods with understanding. "So, when it's a sudden thing?" "It's like a thunderstorm," Karen says, her voice a gentle explanation. "Loud, intense, and overwhelming. But the gradual buildup is more like a slow-moving fog, thickening until it's hard to breathe." She looks at Hanna with quiet strength. "Today in the bedroom, it was like that. The sounds, the light, even the smells...it was all too much for him. But he couldn't tell you. He just had to retreat." Hanna nods reflecting her dawning comprehension. "So, when he went to his room, he was trying to get away from it all?" Karen's smile is sad but knowing. "Yes," she whispers. "His room is his sanctuary. He's got it set up just right— dim lights and all his favorite things. It's where he goes to recharge, to escape the storm when it gets too loud." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see now how the simple act of playing a board game had become a tempest for him. How the jovial jab had sent him spiraling into a sensory hurricane. She feels a pang of regret for not noticing the signs sooner, for not understanding the delicate balance he maintained every day. "How do you know when touch helps him?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft inquiry. "I mean, if he can't tell you?" It's all about reading his cues," she whispers. "Sometimes, it's the tension. Other times, it's the way his pupil reacts to stimuli." She pauses, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. "And sometimes, it's just a feeling." "How can I get better at that?" she asks, her voice earnest. "How can I support him without making things worse?" Karen's smile is warm, filled with gratitude for Hanna's willingness to learn. "It takes time," she says gently. "But the key is to pay attention to his reactions, his body language. If he flinches or withdraws, that's a sign that what you're doing isn't helping. But if he relaxes or moves closer, then you know you're on the right track." Hanna nods, still on Plankton's sleeping form. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of fear. "What if I hurt him again?" Karen's hand squeezes hers reassuringly. "You're already doing so much better than most. It's just about learning to read his body language, his reactions." Hanna nods, still on Plankton. "What about when he's asleep?" she asks, her voice a soft concern. "How do you know if he's comfortable?" "It's all in the subtleties," Karen explains, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Hanna. "If he's tense, if curled tightly, then I know to be careful. But if he's relaxed, loose or reaching out...that's when I know it's safe to touch him." Hanna nods, taking in the information. She watches as Plankton starts to stir. "He's waking up," Karen whispers, her voice a soft breeze in the quiet room. She watches as Plankton twitch, his eye slowly opening. The panic from earlier is gone, replaced with a soft curiosity as he looks around the room. "Hey, buddy," Karen says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "How are you feeling?" Plankton blinks slowly, moving to rub his eye. "Tired," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper. Hanna clenches at the sound, but she remains still, not wanting to disturb him. "Do you need anything?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of concern. Plankton's gaze shifts to her, his pupil dilating slightly. He seems to consider her words before shaking his head. "Just...quiet," he says, his voice a whisper in the stillness. Hanna feels a strange sense of responsibility, a need to protect him from the world that can be so unforgiving to those who are different. She watches as he blinks slowly, moving slightly as if testing the waters of consciousness. Karen's smile is a soft glow of gratitude. "Just sit with us," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Your presence is enough." "I swear we were just playing a game, and..." he asks, his voice still a whisper. Hanna nods of guilt and empathy. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry." Plankton reaches out, touching her arm lightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "I just...I need time." Hanna nods, brimming with unshed tears. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I'll be quiet as a mouse." Plankton's grip tightens around her arm for a moment, a silent thank you, before releasing its grip. He sits up slowly, wrapping around himself like a self-made blanket. Karen watches him with a knowing gaze, her heart aching for his pain but also swelling with pride at his resilience. "Let's get you water to drink," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze that doesn't disturb the peacefulness of the room. She rises and heads to the kitchen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the cocoon of quiet understanding. Hanna nods, still on Plankton as he slowly unravels from his protective ball. She feels the weight of his gaze on her, a silent question, and she meets it with a smile tinged with sadness. "You're ok," she whispers, her voice a soft caress in the hushed room. The kitchen door clicks shut behind Karen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the gentle embrace of the dim light from the fireplace. The silence stretches out like a warm blanket, comforting and safe. Plankton reaches for the blanket, pulling it tighter around his shoulders. Hanna takes a deep breath, the scent of the fireplace mixing with the faint aroma of their earlier dinner. "I'm really sorry," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "I had no idea." Plankton nods, loosening slightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "Not your fault." The warmth from the fireplace creates a serene ambiance, the flickering light casting shadows across the room. Hanna watches as Plankton begins to move again, a sign that he's slowly coming back to the present moment. "What can I do to make it up to you?" she asks, her voice a soft thread of hope in the quiet. Plankton considers her question, his tentacles stroking the blanket in a rhythmic pattern. "Just...just be there," he murmurs, his eye closing briefly. "And maybe next time, we can find a different way to play." Hanna nods, her heart heavy with the weight of her mistake. "I'd like that," she says softly. "I'd really like that."

https://molecularautism.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s13229-024-00586-5

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS iii (Autistic Author) With a deep breath, Plankton nods. Karen heads upstairs and returns with Chip, his eyes wide and hopeful. She sits beside Plankton, her arm around him, offering silent support. Chip takes a seat on the floor, his legs folded under him as he stares up at his dad. "Don’t just stare at me like that!" Plankton yells, his voice echoing through the small room, causing Chip to flinch. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, a silent plea for patience. Chip's eyes fill with tears as he looks up at his father, not understanding why he's being yelled at. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to know if you're ok." Karen's heart breaks as she sees the hurt on her son's face. She turns to Plankton, her voice firm but gentle. "Plankton, we need to talk to him. He's scared, and he loves you." Plankton's eye softens at the sight of his son's tears. He takes a deep breath, visibly fighting the urge to retreat into his anger. "Okay," he murmurs. "Okay." Karen squeezes his hand, her silent support a lifeline. She looks at Chip, her eyes filled with love and hope. "You remember when we talked about how everyone is different, and some people have challenges that others don't?" Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "Well, Dad has something called neurodivergence," Karen begins, her voice calm and steady. "It means his brain works differently than ours. Sometimes it's like he needs a little break, to reboot." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "But why does he get so mad?" he asks, his voice small but earnest. Plankton's antennae quiver with irritation. "Why do you think," he snaps. "You just don't know when to leave me alone." Chip's eyes widen, his bottom lip trembling as he tries to hold back his tears. "I just want to understand," he says, his voice shaking. But Plankton's anger is a storm that doesn't easily pass. "I don't have to justify myself to you," he snaps, his antennae quivering with agitation. "So, don't ask me about it again." Chip's eyes well up with tears, his voice small and trembling. "But, Dad..." Karen's heart breaks at the sight of their son's pain, but she knows that Plankton's anger is a defense mechanism, a way for him to cope with his fear and confusion. She tries to interject, but Plankton beats her to it. “Well guess what Chip, the world doesn’t revolve around your curiosity,” Plankton snaps, his antennae standing tall with indignation. “Some things are just private, ok? Just like how I don’t ask you why you think you’re entitled!” Chip cries. “But that’s not fair to me, I…” Plankton's face contorts with annoyance, his antennae twitching erratically. “Fair? Life’s not fair, kid. Get used to it. You think you’re perfect? Maybe you should go live in a sitcom where everything’s wrapped up with a neat bow at the end of the day.” Karen winces at the harshness of Plankton’s words, but she knows her husband’s bark is worse than his bite. He’s hurting, and his defense is to lash out. She opens her mouth to speak, but Chip beats her to it. "Father," Chip says, his voice shaky but determined. "I’m trying..." "Oh, I know you're trying," Plankton says with a sneer, his antennae waving in the air like he's swatting at an invisible fly. "But you're trying to make this about you. You wanna try something? Well how about you try to start understanding that sometimes people need space, huh? Maybe then you'd get it." Karen sighs, her eyes never leaving Chip's face. "Plankton, please," she says, her voice a gentle reprimand. But Plankton's on a roll, his words coming out in a rush of bitterness and pain. "You want me to sugarcoat it for you, son? Tell it's all rainbows and sunshine?" His antennae are a blur of agitation as he stands up. "You wanna know what it's like? Imagine the world's loudest, brightest, most obnoxious parade happening in your head all day, every day. And you can't turn it off, no matter how much you want to. That's what it's like for me. So, don't you dare make it about your feelings, Chip!" Karen's chest tightens, her eyes flickering between her husband and son. She knows Plankton's frustration is a product of his condition, but the words are harsh, and the sting is real. "You know what, Chip?" Plankton continues, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you go live in a world where everyone is just like you? A perfect little bubble where everyone thinks the same, feels the same, and Neptune forbid, doesn't 'zone out'." He makes air quotes with his fingers, his antennae still twitching with agitation. Chip's eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks wet with tears, but his voice is steady. "But Dad, I just want to know why you get like this. I want to help.." Plankton's sarcasm turns to a cold, hard edge. "Help? What can you do, huh? You think a pat on the back and a 'good job, Dad' is going to make everything ok? News flash, kiddo, it doesn't work like that, so stop acting like you know anything!" With that, Plankton storms out of the room in frustration. The door to his bedroom slams shut with a resounding thud, leaving Karen and Chip in the quiet wake of his anger. Karen pulls Chip into a tight embrace, feeling his small body shake with sobs, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Chip, honey," she says, her voice soft and warm as she strokes his back. "Daddy's condition isn't something he chose. It's called Autism." Chip looks up at her with wide, questioning eyes. "What's that?" "It's a way his brain is," Karen says, her voice gentle and calm. "It's something he's had since he was born. It makes it harder for him to deal with certain things, like noise and touch. And sometimes, it's like his brain goes on a little vacation without him knowing it." Chip looks up at her with a frown. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes misting over. "Because we wanted to protect you, and we didn't want you to see him differently," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Plankton was diagnosed after we'd already fallen in love. We didn't want to define him, or for you to think of him as anything less than the amazing person he can be when happy." Chip sniffs, his grip on her tightening. "But why does he get so mad?" Karen's gaze follows Plankton's retreating form, her heart heavy with the weight of their conversation. "His condition can make him feel overwhelmed," she explains, her voice gentle. "Sometimes, it's hard for him to control his emotions. When that happens, he says things. It's not necessarily you personally, honey, it's about him trying to deal with his own frustrations." Chip pulls back from the embrace. "But why doesn't he like to be touched by me, but meanwhile hugs you the same way I tried to?" he asks, his eyes searching hers for answers. Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain something so complex to a young mind. "Daddy's love is different, Chip," she says, her voice gentle. "He shows it in his own way. When I know he's had a hard day, I don't just come up and hug him. I look for signs, like if he's been more quiet than usual, or if his antennae are drooping. That's how I know he might need a hug or just some space." Chip's frown deepens. "But how do you know…" "I've learned to read him," Karen says, her voice filled with understanding. "When he needs a hug," she adds with a sad smile, "his eye gets this soft look, like he's asking for it without saying the words." Chip nods, trying to process this new information. "But what about me?" he asks, his voice small. "How do I know?" Karen sighs. "When he's about to get irritated," she begins, "it can be like he's bracing for something. That's a way I can tell." Chip nods, his curiosity piqued. "How does his face look?" Karen takes a moment, her eyes reflecting on her years of experience. "When Daddy's about to get irritated," she says, "his eye tends to narrow, just a bit." Chip looks confused. "But why does he have only one eye?" he asks, his voice innocent and curious. "It's a condition called cyclopia, which runs in his family."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii (Autistic Author) The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. The film starts, and for a while, the only sound is the muffled dialogue and the occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but then relaxes slightly, allowing her contact. Plankton's antennae still and he turns to look at Chip, who's staring at the screen, lost in the fantasy. Karen watches them both, torn between anger and pity. She knows Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, but it's hard to see her son hurt. The movie plays on, the sound of laughter and adventure a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he glances at Chip, his eye flickering with regret. Karen feels the tension in the room begin to ease as Chip becomes engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to Plankton, seeking comfort without words. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the armrest of the couch tightening. During a particularly suspenseful scene, Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's arm instinctively. But the sudden touch sends Plankton spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he starts to shake uncontrollably. "Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening in concern. Plankton's body jolts, his antennae flailing wildly as his eye roll back. "Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear as he clutches his father's arm tighter. Plankton's tremors only worsen, his body convulsing in a way that's both frightening and heartbreaking. Karen's realizes what's happening. "Chip, let go!" she cries. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice trembling with fear. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae flailing as if trying to escape the confines of his own body. His mouth opens in a silent scream. Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but something else entirely—a meltdown, a result of the overwhelming emotions he's been trying to hold in. She rushes to his side with worry. "Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes more intense, his antennae thrashing about like seaweed in a storm. Karen quickly moves closer, her own hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice firm yet filled with empathy. "What's wrong with him?" he stammers, voice trembling. Karen's full of sadness as she takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling him away from Plankton's convulsing form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's just having a hard time right now." Her movements are swift and sure as she guides Chip away from the couch, her gaze never leaving Plankton. His body is still racked with tremors, his antennae a wild mess of emotions. She knows that touch can be overwhelming for Plankton in moments like these, so she keeps her distance, giving him the space he needs. "Why is he doing that?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky with fear. Karen's heart aches as she holds him close, trying to shield him from the harshness of the world. "It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she explains gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Sometimes, when some neurodivergent people get really upset or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like this." Karen's on Plankton, who's still trembling on the couch, his antennae a blur of distress. She knows he needs space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe distance, speaking softly so as not to add to the sensory overload. "Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's ok. Just breathe." Plankton's body continues to spasm, his antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. Karen's filled with a fierce determination as she carefully approaches him, her movements slow and calculated to avoid triggering more distress. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm here." Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his body calming as he registers her presence. "It's ok," she repeats. With trembling hands, she reaches out to stroke his back, the barest touch. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps. "Just breathe," she whispers again, her hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's ok, you're ok." Plankton's antennae slow their erratic dance, his body following suit. The tremors subside, leaving him drained and panting. "Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder. Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's way of letting out all the big feelings." Chip watches, his grip on Karen tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he asks, his voice small. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give him a moment." The room is silent except for Plankton's uneven breathing. The colors from the TV flicker across their faces, painting them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen can feel Chip's little heart beating against hers, and she knows he's scared. "It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just needs some time." Plankton's antennae droop, his body finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen nods, her hand still on his back, offering assurance without words. "Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can you go to your room for a bit?" He nods, eyes still glued to his father, but he doesn't protest. With a heavy heart, Karen watches her son disappear down the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him. Turning her full attention to Plankton, she sits down beside him, her hand resting lightly on his back. His breathing is still ragged, his antennae barely moving. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice hoarse. Karen nods with understanding. "We'll talk to him," she says gently. "But first, let's make sure you're ok." Plankton's body still trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand on his back, her touch a silent promise that she's there for him. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, trying to soothe him. "You don't have to apologize," she says firmly. "You are who you are, and we love you for it." Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up at her, his single eye brimming with unshed tears. "But I don't know how to be a good dad like this," he chokes out. Karen's heart breaks at his words, but she keeps her voice steady. "You're already a great dad, Plankton," she says. "You just need to find a way to show Chip that." He looks at her, hope and doubt warring in his expression. "How?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Karen takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "By teaching him," she says gently. "By letting him in, just like you're letting us in now." Plankton's antennae droop, and he nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want him to see me like this." Karen squeezes his hand. "He already does," she says gently. "And he loves you anyway."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii (Autistic Author) They sit in silence for a few moments, the sound of Plankton's slowing breaths filling the space. Karen's mind races with the conversation they need to have with Chip. "How do we explain it?" Plankton asks, finally breaking the silence. His antennae still, his eye looking at the floor. "We tell him the truth," Karen says firmly. "But we also remind him of all the wonderful things you do for him, all the ways you show him love." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping further. "I know I'm not the dad he deserves," he murmurs. Karen's voice is firm, but filled with warmth. "You are the dad he needs," she corrects. "And we'll get through this together." Finally, Plankton's antennae perk up slightly. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice still thick with emotion. Karen nods. "I know," she says softly. "But we can't keep hiding this from him. He needs to understand." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "I know," he admits. "I just don't know where to start." Karen gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll start by talking to him," she says, her voice strong and reassuring. "When you're ready." They sit there for a while longer, the rhythm of Plankton's breathing slowly returning to normal. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts of how to navigate this chapter in their lives. How to help Chip understand his father's condition without scaring him or making him feel responsible. Finally, Plankton turns to her, his antennae still shaky. "What do we do now?" he asks, his voice a mix of exhaustion and fear. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes filled with resolve. "First," she says, "we make sure you're ok." They sit there, the only sound in the room the distant hum of the TV. Plankton's antennae are still, his eye focused on the floor. Karen's hand remains on his back, a silent promise that she's there for him. "Let's get you to bed," she says softly. "You need to rest." With her help, Plankton stands, his legs wobbly from the intense episode. Together, they make their way to their bedroom, the quiet of the house a stark contrast to the emotional upheaval they've just experienced. Once Plankton is tucked into bed, Karen sits beside him, her hand resting on his arm. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice a gentle reassurance in the stillness. "We're a family." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of doubt, and he looks up at her, his eye searching hers for understanding. "But what if I can't?" Karen's gaze is unwavering. "You can," she says firmly. "You're strong, Plankton. And we're here to help you." Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods slowly. "Ok," he whispers. "Ok." Karen leans in, kissing his forehead. "Rest," she says. "We'll talk more tomorrow." With a nod, Plankton closes his eye, and Karen slips out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. She heads to Chip's room, heavy with the weight of the conversation they need to have. Chip is lying on his bed, his small form wrapped in a blanket, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are red, and he looks up as Karen enters. "Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. "Can we talk?" Chip nods, his eyes still wet with tears. "What's wrong with Daddy?" he asks, his voice shaky. Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Daddy has something called Autism, sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "It makes his brain work a bit differently from ours. Sometimes, when he's really upset or overwhelmed, his body can react in ways that might seem strange or scary." Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity, and he nods slowly. "Is that why he gets so mad?" he asks. Karen takes a moment before responding. "Sometimes, yes," she says. "It's his way of dealing with big feelings. But it's not because he's mad at you, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "But why does he get so mad?" he asks again, his voice quivering. Karen sighs, her hand stroking him. "Daddy gets overwhelmed by his feelings, and it's hard for him to express them," she explains. "Sometimes, when he can't find the right words or when things get too much, he feels like he's going to break apart. That's what we call a meltdown." Chip sniffs, his eyes glued to the ceiling. "It's like when I'm really sad and I don't want to talk?" Karen nods, her heart swelling with love for her son's empathy. "Exactly," she says. "And just like you, Daddy needs some space when that happens." Chip looks at her, his eyes serious. "But what if I want to show him my affection?" Karen smiles sadly. "You can, Chip," she says. "Just remember to be gentle, and maybe use words or gestures that aren't to overwhelming for him." Chip nods, his eyes still on the ceiling. "But what if I make it worse?" he whispers. Karen's heart clenches at his fear, and she takes his hand in hers. "Sometimes, we just need to learn new ways to show and receive love." Chip nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Ok," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen leans in, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "You're brave," she says, her voice filled with pride. "But what about the rock he broke?" Chip asks, his voice still shaky. Karen sighs, her eyes meeting his. "Daddy didn't mean to scare you," she says. "Sometimes, when people are upset, they do things they don't mean to. It's part of how they cope." Chip nods, his grip on her hand tightening. "But Dad now," he says again, his voice small. "We'll give him some time to rest," Karen assures him. "And tomorrow, we'll talk about it more." With that, she tucks the blanket around him and turns to leave. As she reaches the door, Chip's voice stops her. "Mom," he says, his tone tentative. "Can I go to Daddy?" Karen's heart skips a beat, and she looks back at him, her eyes filled with both concern and hope. "Do you think that's a good idea, sweetie?" Chip nods. "I want to tell him I love him," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's heart squeezes. "Ok," she says, taking a deep breath. "But remember, we need to be gentle with him right now. Let's go to his room together." They tiptoe down the hall, the house eerily quiet. Karen can feel Chip's hand in hers, small and warm and trembling slightly. When they reach the bedroom, she opens the door quietly and peeks in. Plankton is lying on his back, his antennae still, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. They approach the bed, and Karen can see the tension in Plankton's body, even in sleep. She whispers to Chip, "Remember, sweetie, just a little. And if he wakes up, tell him you love him." Chip nods solemnly, and together, they tiptoe to the bedside. Chip extends a tentative hand and gently pats Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae twitch, but he doesn't wake. "I love you, Daddy," Chip whispers, his voice quivering. Karen's eyes fill with tears at the sight of her son's bravery and love. She gives Chip's hand a squeeze. "That was perfect," she says, her voice barely a murmur. They stand there for a moment, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall in the dim light of the moon peeking through the curtains. Then, with a heavy heart, Karen leads Chip back to his room. Once Chip is tucked in, she kisses his forehead and whispers, "You're a brave boy, and I'm so proud of you." His eyes, still red and swollen from crying, meet hers with a quiet understanding beyond his years.

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix (Autistic Author) As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, making something as simple as expressing love a monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the determination to help their family navigate through this. The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent promise that today will be better. Plankton emerges from the bedroom, his antennae drooping slightly, evidence of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, and she offers him a soft smile. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice gentle. He shrugs, his antennae twitching nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready to talk to Chip." Karen nods with a mix of concern and admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, heading to Chip's room. When they all gather at the breakfast table, the tension in the air is palpable. Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely moving, as if afraid to break the delicate silence. Chip looks between them, his eyes wide and hopeful. "Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep breath. "Remember what we talked about last night? About Daddy's meltdowns?" Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, who's pushing his pancake around with a syrupy look of dread. "Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is almost too much to bear, but he steels himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from the previous night's outburst. "I made you this," Chip says, pushing a plate of perfectly formed pancakes towards his father. "To make you feel better." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at the gesture, his eye focusing on the food with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his heart pounding in anticipation of a reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, hope blooming in his voice. Plankton nods, his antennae waving slightly. "They look delicious," he says, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The room holds its breath, waiting. "They're great," he finally says, and Chip's face lights up. The tension in the room eases ever so slightly, the sweetness of the maple syrup mingling with the salty scent of fear that still lingers. Karen watches the exchange, her heart swelling with pride for both of them. Plankton's effort to engage, despite his exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, seems to understand the unspoken rules of their new reality. They're all learning together, stumbling in the dark but finding their way through the maze of neurodivergence. "Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his voice filled with courage. "I know you have meltdowns sometimes. But I still love you." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his chewing slowing. He looks at his son, his single eye filled with a mix of emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. "I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I too." The room remains quiet, the only sound the soft clinking of silverware against plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, I need to tell you something." Chip looks up, his eyes wide and expectant. "What is it, Daddy?" Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "I have something," he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my brain works differently than yours and Mommy's." Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice steady. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks down at his plate, his voice quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. "It means that sometimes, I get really, really upset, and my body reacts in ways that might scare you." Chip's expression is a blend of confusion and curiosity. "But why do you get upset, Daddy?" he asks. Plankton's antennae wiggle as he searches for the right words. "Sometimes, things that don't bother you or Mommy can feel really, really big to me," he explains. "It's like when you're scared of a thunderstorm, and the thunder feels like it's right next to you." Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he points out. "It's different, bud," Plankton says, his antennae stilling for a moment. "It's like... sometimes my brain gets a storm inside, and I don't know how to make it stop." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a way that Karen knows means he's trying to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice a little stronger. "But I might have more storms. And when I do, I might need some space." Chip looks at him seriously, his young mind working to understand. "Ok," he says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy for you, Daddy." Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of love and relief. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "That means the world to me." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of a new understanding. "And you know," she adds, her voice gentle, "Whenever you have questions or if you're scared, you can come to me and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best as we can." Chip nods, his gaze still focused on Plankton. "But what if I don't know when I’m irritating you?" Plankton's antennae droop, and he sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. "Sometimes I don't know either. But we can learn together, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. "Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky. Karen pours them both a glass of juice, hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't we talk about what you can do to help?" she suggests, handing a glass to Chip. Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice earnest. Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. "Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is a little space, like when I'm in the middle of a big idea." Chip nods, remembering the times when Plankton would get so focused on his latest contraption that the slightest disturbance would send him into a tizzy. "I can do that," he says, his voice filled with determination. Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And when you do freeze, Dad," Chip continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell if you need a hug or if you just need me to sit with you?" Karen's eyes fill with pride as she watches her son's bravery. Plankton looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a way that she knows means he's trying to find the right words. "If I freeze," he says slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait until I come back. I might not be able to hug you right then, but I'll know you're there." Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass tightening slightly. "What about meltdowns?" he asks, his voice quivering. Plankton's antennae droop, and he takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," he admits. "But if you can give me space and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm down faster." Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, what types of touch do you like and what types of affection do you dislike?” Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She gives him a gentle nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, "I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or pats on the back, especially when I'm working or thinking hard. But a hand on my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is always nice." Chip nods, processing the information. "So, like when you're stressed, I should just tell you I love you?" Plankton's antennae wobble with the weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's right. Just remember, buddy, everyone shows love differently." Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she watches the conversation unfold. It's not perfect, but it's a start. A start to understanding and acceptance. "And if you need more than that, Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but earnest. Plankton looks at him, his antennae moving in a way that Karen can't quite read. "If I need more than that," he says, "I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you understand." Chip nods, taking another sip of his juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. "But what if I don't know what to say?" Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting with me is enough."

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii (Autistic author) "Now let's go to the living room and I'll go pick up a smoothie for you. Can you stay here by yourself?" He nodded, his expression slightly less tense. "I'll be back soon," she assured him, squeezing his shoulder before leaving the Chum Bucket. Just moments later, Karen's friend Hanna came for a surprise visit. She knew Karen had a husband named Plankton, but she never met him. Plankton was now back on the living room couch. "Oh, you must be Plankton!" Hanna exclaimed. Plankton's eye flitted to her, his expression unreadable. Hanna walked over to the couch, her smile wide and genuine. "It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, embracing him in a hug. Plankton stiffened, his eye wide with surprise. His body tensed, his mind racing to process this new sensory input. "You ok?" Hanna asked, pulling back slightly. She had noticed his reaction but didn't know the reason behind it. Plankton nodded, his eye darting around the room again. He wasn't used to such spontaneous affection, and the unexpected sensation of Hanna's arms around him had thrown him off balance. "Yes, I am Plankton," he murmured, his voice monotone. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Hanna's smile didn't waver, unaware of the turmoil within his mind. "How are you feeling today?" Plankton's gaze flicked to the ceiling, his mind racing to find the right words. "Today, feeling," he echoed, his voice still a whisper. The repetition was a comfort, a way to process the flood of sensory information that assaulted him continuously. Hanna looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You know, your wife Karen tells me you're an inventor," she said, her tone innocently curious. Plankton's eye locked onto hers, his mind racing to understand the context of her words. "Inventor," he repeated, his voice flat. It was a word he knew, but it felt foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else. "Yes, inventor," Hanna said, nodding enthusiastically. "I've heard so much about your gadgets and contraptions. What are you working on these days?" Plankton's eye flitted around the room again, his mind struggling to grasp the concept of 'working'. "Gadgets, contraptions," he murmured, his voice a broken record. Hanna's expression was one of confusion, her smile beginning to fade. "Well, what do you do all day?" she prodded gently, trying to coax him out of his silence. Plankton's reply was immediate and robotic, "Do, all day, all day." Hanna's brow furrowed, uncertain how to interpret his repetitive response. She had known Karen for years, but Plankton's behavior was unlike anything she had ever heard of her friend's husband. "Do you like the beach?" she asked, hoping to engage him in conversation. Plankton's eye blinked slowly, his mind processing the question. "Beach," he echoed, his voice hollow. Hanna nodded, encouraged by his response. "Yes, the beach! It's such a beautiful place. Do you ever go there?" Plankton's gaze shifted to the window, the memory of sand and surf a distant whisper. "Go, beach, beautiful place," he said, his words a stuttered echo of hers. Hanna's smile dimmed slightly. This wasn't the witty banter she was expecting from Karen's husband. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she asked, uncertain. Plankton's eye moved to hers, his gaze intense. "Talk," he repeated, his voice a whisper. Hanna felt a twinge of discomfort. Something was off about his responses, but she couldn't quite put her tentacle on what it was. "Well, what do you like to do for fun?" she tried again, her tone tentative. Plankton's eye wandered back to his own hand, fidgeting with his fingers. "Do, fun," he murmured, the words a reflexive response to the question. Hanna's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you do for fun?" she clarified, wondering if he had simply misunderstood. Plankton's gaze remained on his fidgeting hand, his mind racing to connect the concept of 'fun' with his new reality. "Do, fun," he repeated, his voice devoid of the mirth he once expressed so freely. Hanna's smile was now forced, her confusion growing with each interaction. "Plankton, can you tell me what you enjoy doing?" she asked, hoping for a clearer response. He looked up at her, his gaze slightly less focused than before. "Enjoy doing," he repeated, his voice a faint echo. Hanna's twitched with concern. "You know, like hobbies or interests," she prompted gently, trying to keep her voice light. Plankton's eye moved back to his fidgeting hand, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and sensory overload. "Hobbies, interests," he murmured, his voice a hollow echo. Hanna's concern was now clear on her screen. "You know, like things you like to do in your free time," she tried again, her voice a little less bright. Plankton's eye latched onto hers. "Free time," he repeated, his voice a monotone. "Like to do." Hanna's eyes widened slightly, her confusion growing with each word he said. "Yes, exactly," she nodded, her voice a little more cautious now. "What do you like to do in your free time? Well, other than repetition.." She awkwardly laughs as she elbows him multiple times, not knowing how her touch is irritating Plankton. Plankton's getting more frustrated/angry now, as Hanna goes to pat his shoulder. He can't take much more now. Hanna's touch was like a brand, searing his already overwhelmed senses. He flinched away, his body rigid with tension. "Plankton, are you ok?" Hanna asked, her voice filled with concern. She noticed his discomfort but couldn't pinpoint the cause. He nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "Ok, ok," he mumbled, his voice still a monotone. Hanna looked at him with concern, her smile slipping. "Karen said you used to be quite the conversationalist. What happened?" She says, grabbing his elbow; but that's the last straw for Plankton. Plankton's eye snapped up to hers, his voice sharp. "What happened? You happened!" He snapped, his words sharp as a knife. The sudden aggression in his tone was like a slap in the face, catching Hanna off guard. She took a step back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she began, but Plankton was on a roll now. "You don't know what happened!" his voice grew louder, his words quickening with each syllable. "You don't know anything!" Hanna's eyes went wide with shock. This was not the Plankton Karen had described. Her arms flailed in the air as she tried to placate his sudden anger. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I just didn't know..."

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vii (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Sponge Bob's thumb begins to move in slow, soothing circles against Plankton's skin. "Thank you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Sponge Bob simply nods, his thumb continuing its soothing motion. He doesn't know how to explain the depth of his feelings, but his actions speak louder than words. His friendship with Plankton has always been unconventional, but now, in the face of this new challenge, it feels more precious than ever. Just as the moment of connection seems to solidify, the door to the Chum Bucket opens again, and Hanna tentatively steps inside, a pamphlet clutched in her hand. "I brought this," she says, her voice shaking slightly as she holds out the pamphlet. "It's about autism...and rituals that might help get rid of the autistic behaviors." Karen's snatching the pamphlet from Hanna's grip. Her eyes scan the pages, her anger building with each word. "What are you thinking?" she demands, her voice like a whipcrack. Hanna takes a step back. "I just...I thought it might help you get him back to normal," she stammers, clearly not expecting the ferocity of Karen's reaction. But Karen's anger is a volcano, erupting with the force of her love for Plankton. "These are not 'behaviors' to get rid of," she snaps, shaking the pamphlet in the air. "This is who he is now!" "But Karen, don't you think life would be easier if he wasn't...you know, like this?" Hanna tries to explain. "This isn't about making life easier for me," she snaps. "It's about supporting him!" "Karen, Plankton just needs to be fixed," Hanna says, her voice smaller now, her expression pleading. "We both know how difficult it is to be around someone with...problems." The words hit Karen. "Fixed?" she repeats, her voice low and dangerous. "Plankton isn't broken. He's not a machine to be tinkered with! These are dangerous, deadly suggestions!" Plankton flinches at the sound, his mind whirling. He feels a tiny spark of defiance in his chest. "You dare suggest that he doesn't deserve to live because he's autistic? You don't get to decide his worth!" Plankton's grip on Sponge Bob's tightens, his body stiffening, his heart racing. "How could you?" she demands, her eyes spitting fire. "You want me to just...to just get rid of him?" Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she takes another step back, her hands coming up in a defensive gesture. "I didn't mean it like that," she says, her voice quavering. "I just want to help!" But Karen's fury is a freight train, unstoppable. "Help?" she spits. "This is not help!" She gestures at the pamphlet, now a mangled mess on the floor. "This is hate, Hanna! This is saying he's not worth it because he's not like everyone else!" Plankton looks down, his antennae drooping. Was he really such a burden? Was his life not worth living? Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand, his grip a silent reassurance. Karen's fury doesn't waver. "You call yourself a friend?" she says, her voice laced with disgust. "You'd throw his life away because it's inconvenient for you?" Hanna's sobs fill the room, her body trembling under the weight of Karen's accusations. "I didn't mean it like that," she whimpers. "I just...I don't know what to do." Karen's anger doesn't abate, but it turns into a deep sadness. She looks at Hanna, her eyes filled with disappointment. "You don't 'fix' someone because they're different," she says, her voice deadly calm. "You support them." Plankton watches the exchange. He feels tiny, insignificant under the weight of their words. Karen turns to Sponge Bob. "Take him to his room," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to talk to Hanna." Sponge Bob nods slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. He gently helps Plankton to his feet, a steadying presence against Plankton's uncertain steps. As they walk to the bedroom, Plankton's gaze remains glued to the floor, his mind whirling with thoughts he can't quite grasp. Once Plankton is safely in bed, Sponge Bob tucks the blanket around him, his movements gentle and soothing. Plankton's body relaxes slightly under the comforting weight, his eye closing with a sigh. Karen turns to Hanna, unfurling from defensive pose. "You don't understand," she says, her voice calmer now, though still tinged with frustration. "The things you're suggesting, they're not just cruel, they're dangerous." Hanna's sobs slow, her eyes red and swollen. She looks at Karen with desperation, clearly lost in the ignorance. "What do you mean?" Karen's determined. "Straightjackets are used," she says, her words carefully measured. "They restrain patients, not help them." She pauses. "And those rituals you found, the ones that suggest them to make him 'normal'... They could kill.." Hanna's sobs stop abruptly, her breath hitching. "What?" she asks, shock etched on her features. Karen's eyes never leave Hanna's, her voice cold and devoid of pity. "You don't get to decide his worth, Hanna," she says, each word a bullet. "And you certainly don't get to decide his fate." Hanna's shoulders slump. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her tears flowing freely. "I didn't know." Karen's expression softens slightly, the anger fading to disappointment. "You have to understand," she says. "Plankton is still Plankton. He just...sees the world differently now." Hanna sniffs, wiping away her tears. "But what if he's in pain?" she whispers. "What if his autism is making him miserable?" Karen sighs, her frustration dissipating. "He's not in pain," she explains. "He's just...sensitive. To everything. Sounds, smells, touch... exactly what the institutions expose them to, will cause pain." Hanna absorbs Karen's words. "Oh, I didn't..." she trails off, overwhelmed by the gravity of her mistake. "I'm so sorry, Karen. I didn't know." Karen nods, relaxing slightly. "I know," she says, her voice softer now. "It's a lot to take in, and it's scary when someone you love becomes...different." Hanna nods. "But you still love him," she says, a question and a statement wrapped in one. "More than anything," Karen replies without hesitation, her tentacles tightening around Hanna. "And I need you to love him too, Hanna." Hanna nods, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "I do," she whispers. "I just...I want him to be happy." Karen's tentacles give Hanna a gentle squeeze. "He is," she says, her voice filled with determined love. "And we'll make sure he stays that way." The two of them stand there, the silence of the moment heavy between them. Karen's eyes drift to the closed bedroom door, beyond which Plankton sleeps peacefully. The sounds of the Chum Bucket are muted, the only noise the distant hum of the laboratory equipment. In that quiet, Karen's tentacles relax slightly, the anger of the confrontation dissipating. She looks back at Hanna, her expression softening. "Thank you for coming," she says, her voice still firm but lacking the sharp edge of anger. "But you have to understand that this isn't something to be fixed. It's part of him now. Let's go check on him." They find SpongeBob sitting on the foot of the bed, his hand still entwined with Plankton's, their fingertips barely touching. Plankton's breathing is deep and even, a stark contrast to the turmoil of moments before. His antennae twitch occasionally, his mouth barely parted in a quiet snore. Hanna follows Karen into the room, her eyes wide and frightened. She sees Sponge Bob and his gentle touch with Plankton and her expression softens slightly. This is new to her, this quiet understanding, but she can't help but be moved by the sight. Sponge Bob looks up, his eyes filled with a certain sadness that mirrors Karen's. He nods silently, acknowledging her thanks. Hanna's eyes dart to Plankton, who remains fast asleep, his single eye closed peacefully. Karen sits beside the bed, reaching out to stroke Plankton's forehead. His skin is cool to the touch, his breathing steady. She whispers to Hanna, "We need to be careful with him. He's...fragile." Hanna nods, swallowing her tears. She moves closer, her own hand tentatively reaching out to touch Plankton's hand. His antennae twitch but he doesn't wake. The room is bathed in a soft glow, the dimmed lights designed to reduce stimulation and ease his sensory overload. Karen's breathing slows as she watches the scene before her, her heart swelling with love and gratitude for the support Sponge Bob is providing. Hanna's tentative touch seems to soothe Plankton, his snoring growing slightly more rhythmic. Sponge Bob smiles softly at Hanna, his thumb still moving in gentle circles around Plankton's. "You're doing good," he whispers. "He just needs us to be patient and understanding." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "I'll try," she says, her voice quiet and earnest. "I really will." Karen looks at Hanna, her eyes softening. "It's not easy," she admits. "But it's worth it." **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT iii (Autistic author) The door creaks open, and Karen turned to see Hannapoking her head in. Hanna's never met Plankton. "Hi, Karen," Hanna called, warm and cheerful. "How's the Chum Bucket running today?" Karen forced a smile at the sight of Hanna. She hadn't told anyone about Plankton's condition yet. "Oh, you know," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Just another day." Plankton's eye snapped up at the sound of Hanna's voice, his gaze intense. Karen felt a flicker of anxiety. Would he be able to handle the unpredictability of a guest? "Plankton, this is Hanna," Karen introduced. "Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton. I’m going to clean up the yard." As Karen left, Hanna's screen lit up. "The one and only!" she exclaimed, moving in for a hug. Plankton recoiled at the sudden physical contact. "No touch," he said, a sudden snap of command. Hanna, taken aback, froze. "Oh, I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "No touch," he repeated in a way that was both defensive and pleading. Hanna took a step back, her smile faltering. Plankton's eye darted around the room, his breaths shallow and quick. The sudden intrusion into his personal space had triggered a storm of sensory overload, his brain struggling to process the unexpected contact. "I'm sorry," Hanna began. "No touch!" His voice was a whipcrack in the silence, his body tensing. Hanna's smile had disappeared completely, replaced by a look of confusion and concern. "Plankton, I didn't mean to upset you," she said. "Can we start over?" But Plankton's agitation only grew. "No touch!" he snapped again. Hanna took in his distress. "I'm sorry," she stuttered, her voice tentative. But Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the spot where her hand had been, his body a taut wire of frustration. "No touch," he murmured, his voice a mix of anger and fear. Hanna's trying to understand, her own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and concern. "I didn't know." "No touch," he whispered. "What's going on, Plankton?" she asked. "You're scaring me." "No touch," he repeated, his body now vibrating with tension. Hanna felt her own frustration rising. "I said sorry," she retorted, her voice rising. "What more do you want?" Plankton's antennae shot up, his whole body quivering. "Understand!" he bellowed, the word no longer a mere echo but a demand. "Understand!" "Plankton, what's happening to you?" "Understand," he spat. "Need to... understand!" "I don't get it, Plankton," she said. "What do you want from me?" "No touch!" he shouted. The cucumber slices bounced off the plate, scattering across the floor. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded, her own anger rising. "Why are you acting like this?" But Plankton's rage had overtaken him, his need to be understood like a wildfire in his mind. "Need to... understand!" he yelled, his voice a desperate cry in the storm of his emotions. Hanna felt a wave of anger crash over her. "I don't get it!" she exclaimed, voice rising. "What's your problem?" "No touch!" he screamed again, his body a coil of tension. "Why are you acting like this?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "What's wrong with a simple hello?" Plankton's head snapped up, his eye locking onto hers. "Wrong," he said, the word a hiss. "Wrong!" "What do you mean, 'wrong'?" she challenged. "You're the one freaking out over a hug!" But Plankton was lost in his own world, his brain struggling to make sense of the chaotic sensory input. "No touch," he repeated. "Need... to... understand!" "I've had enough of this!" she shouted, her fists clenching. "What is your problem?" Plankton's eye darted around the room, his thoughts a blur of past and present. "Problem," he murmured. His hand shot out, slapping the cucumber plate off the table, the shatter of porcelain sharp in the silence. "Wrong," he murmured again, his voice a mix of anger and despair. "Need... to... understand." Hanna's own anger grew with each repetition, her voice rising. "I'm not the one with a problem!" she shot back. "You're the one who can't even handle a hug!" "Understand!" he shouted, his body shaking. "Need to understand!" His hand slammed on the table again, knocking over their drinks. The room was now a battlefield of emotions, each collision sending shockwaves through the air. Hanna's frustration boiling over. "What's your deal, Plankton?" she spat, each syllable laced with anger. But Plankton's fury was a volcano erupting, his voice a guttural roar. "Wrong!" he shouted. "Wrong!" He hugs his knees and started to rock in stimming, his body a maelstrom of sensory overload. Hanna, unable to comprehend his distress, felt her own anger flare. "What's your deal?" she yelled. "Why can't you just act normal?" Plankton's world was spinning, his senses assaulted by the sharpness of Hanna's tone. "No touch," he murmured, his voice a plea lost in the din of his thoughts. Hanna's screen flashed with irritation. "I said I'm sorry," she snapped, her voice like a whip. "What more do you want?" "No touch," he repeated, his voice a desperate cry for understanding as he rocked. Hanna's confusion grew with each repetition, her patience wearing as thin as the tension in the room. "Why are you doing this?" she shouted, her voice a mirror of his own frustration. Plankton's body was a tangle of emotion, his limbs flailing in a desperate attempt to communicate. "Wrong," he said, his voice a tornado of pain. "Need... to... understand!" Hanna took a step back, her face a mask of disbelief. "What's gotten into you?" she demanded, her own anger a match to his. "I didn't do anything wrong!" Plankton's eye grew wild, his body jerking as he tried to find the words to explain his pain. "Wrong," he insisted, his voice a tornado of frustration. "Need to... understand!" Hanna's own anger grew sharp as a knife. "What's your problem, Plankton?" she yelled. "You're acting like a maniac, I don’t know why Karen puts up with this!" “Karen?” Plankton shook. The question hung in the air, a challenge thrown down, a spark in his eye. Hanna's anger grew, her voice a crescendo of accusation. "Your wife loved you, Plankton, despite your... quirks. Can't you just be grateful for that? Can’t you see how much she's trying?" But Plankton's fury was a hurricane, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. "Wrong!" he shouted, his body rigid. "Need to understand!" The room vibrated with his pain, his need to communicate the storm raging within him. Hanna's a gale force of accusation. "What's your problem?" she screamed, each word a shard of ice. Plankton's eye darted around the room, his antennae trembling with the overwhelming noise. “If only Karen knew what a monster you really are, perhaps she would leave you!” She yells loud enough to alarm Karen. Her words hit him like a tidal wave, crashing over his already fractured reality. The world around him grew distant, his eye glazed over as he tried to process the onslaught of emotions. His body froze, every muscle locked in place. Karen, drawn by the commotion, rushed back inside with dread. She took in the scene with a gasp, Hanna's screen flushed with anger, Plankton's body a statue of despair. "What's happening?" she demanded, her screen flicking from one to the other. Hanna's gaze met hers, her voice filled with exhaustion. "Your husband just lost it over a simple hug," she told, her hands still shaking. Karen took in Plankton's rigid form. "Oh no," she murmured, as Hanna notices Plankton and his unblinking stare. "What's wrong with him?" Hanna asked, her anger dissipating in the face of his sudden stillness. Karen's with concern as she rushed to his side. "It's ok, I've got you." Plankton's body remained stiff, his eye unblinking as he froze in place. Hanna took in his pallor, the starkness of his features against the chaos of the room. "What's going on?" she whispered, the fight draining from her voice. Karen's screen met hers, desperation etched into her features. "Hanna, what did you say to him?" she pleaded, her voice a symphony of fear. Hanna's expression softened at the sight of Plankton's frozen form. "I... I didn't mean to upset him," she stuttered, her words tripping over themselves. "I just gave him a hug, and he went crazy. He kept saying 'no touch' and 'need to understand'. And I told him you deserve better, that's all." Karen's feeling shattered at the revelation. Her eyes filled with tears as she took in Plankton's lifeless form. “Hanna, tell me what exactly you said to about him..” Hanna, her anger now replaced with a deep sorrow, recounted their interaction, her words falling like heavy rain. Karen listened, upsettingly sinking with each syllable. "He said 'no touch', right?" Karen whispered, her voice a thread of hope. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed." Hanna nodded, her anger giving way to worry. "Yes, and he kept repeating 'need to understand'. I didn't know what to do and got frustrated with him, and I said you deserve a better life." Karen's gaze never left Plankton's still form as she absorbed Hanna's words. The doctor's voice echoed in her mind: his autism wasn't a choice, it was his reality. "Hanna, please," she said, her voice a whisper of despair. "He's not a monster, he's just different." Hanna's expression softened, her own filling with regret. "I'm sorry, Karen," she said, her voice a quiet apology. "I should have known better." Karen's gaze remained locked on Plankton, her heart racing. She knew she had to help him, had to bring him back from the edge of this sensory apocalypse. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice a gentle whisper. "It's ok." Her hand reached out to him, a bridge of comfort in the storm of his overwhelmed mind. "Look at me, Plankton," she soothed, her voice a soft lullaby. "I'm here. It's just us." Slowly, his gaze shifted to her, his pupil contracting in the face of her calm. "It's okay," she whispered. "You're okay."

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GEP7KkaWcAALSij?format=png&name=small

https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/ableism

Tue June 22nd, 2010 at 9:39pm I work with Autistic children every week. I work with a boy who has never spoken to me. Today he looked me straight in the eye and said “Thank you, Samantha” I cried so hard. He GMH

You don't just practice away a neurological disorder 👀

⁉️*️꩜

Expect different bødy language. Autistic people don't always make eye contact, sit still, or look at the person they are listening to. However, that doesn't mean they aren't paying attention. It's helpful to be direct, so they don't get confused about your intentions. Here are some examples of things you could say: "Do you want to hold hands?" "How about a kíss?" "Hey, I'm behind you. Want a hug?" (Some autistic people startle easily when touched from behind.) Autistic people might be uncomfortable with certain types of to͠uch and ıntımate, because of sensory issues. To find out what works for them, just ask. Having a clear conversation is easy for many autistic people, and you'll get a clear sense of what they like. Be clear about your own thoughts and feelings. Picking up on body language can be difficult work for an autistic person, and they might not realize what's going on, or guess completely wrong. If you want them to know your feelings, the easiest way is to express them out loud. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm a little on edge today because of my dad coming. You did nothing wrong." "I wish you would have told me earlier about Amy's math meet. I would like to have rearranged my schedule so that I could be there for her." "It hur͘t my feelings when you said that my beard looked like a hipster beard." Be prepared for them to show and experience emotions differently. They may not understand their own feelings (alexithymia), and thus act less emotional than others (e.g. not appearing to grieve when family members dıe, even though they're very upset). This does not mean that they aren't experiencing emotions. Autistic people may react with a problem-solving approach: they see that you are upset, and they are determined to fix it so you can be happy. They may not realize that you don't want advice, just a listening ear. Autistic people may appear emotionless, even when they are experiencing deep emotions.

https://psychcentral.com/autism/conditions-associated-with-autism

https://www.wikihow.com/Interpret-Autistic-Body-Language

https://rockymountainada.org/news/blog/5-tips-managing-sensory-needs-healthcare-settings

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY i (Autistic author) Sheldon Plankton's new safety vault was a masterstroke that would leave even the great Squidward Tentacles in awe. Plankton's nefarious eye lit up with greed as he surveyed his latest invention. The vault, though not as grandiose as the Krabby Patty's secret formula, was a testament to his own ingenuity. It was a gleaming, metal cube, to store his most precious possessions: his beloved Krabby Patty copies. He had spent weeks crafting it, ensuring that not even the most persistent of jellyfish could breach its impenetrable exterior. Even his robotic computer wife Karen is impressed! The safety vault was positioned in the most secure corner of the Chum Bucket, surrounded by a moat of acid and a minefield of his own design. Plankton felt a thrill of excitement as he approached it, tingling with anticipation. But his excitement was his downfall, as his enthusiasm caused him to trip over a stray piece of wire, sending his body hurtling towards the unyielding metal structure. With a resounding thump, his skull connected with the vault's cold, unforgiving surface. The room spun around him briefly before everything faded to black. His tiny body slumped to the floor as Karen helplessly watched. "Plankton, are you okay?" she asked, her voice a robotic echo in the otherwise silent room. But there was no response, only his limp body lying on the floor. Her diagnostic systems quickly determined that despite the impact, his vital signs were stable. "Plankton, wake up!" she called out, shaking him gently. But his eye remained closed, and his body motionless. Plankton was out cold, unresponsive. With a sigh, Karen knew that she had to take matters into her own robotic hands. She carefully picked him up and placed him on a nearby chair. His head lolled to the side. He still didn't wake up, but at least he was alive. "Wake up, my dear," she cooed. Her concern grew as she realized he wasn't responding to her voice commands. Plankton had always been a lightweight when it came to bumps on the head, but this was unusual. With a whirring sound, Karen engaged her medical protocols and scanned Plankton with a glowing eye beam. The readings confirmed his condition: acquired Autism. "Oh dear," she murmured, more to herself. She carefully set him down on the couch, ensuring he was comfortable. "Plankton," she called out again, this time with a touch of urgency. "You must wake up!" But his body remained still, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice now tinged with worry. He didn't respond. She tried a different approach, speaking in a soothing tone that she knew he liked. "Mr. Krabs will never know about this, I promise." His favorite topic of the Krabby Patty formula didn't even stir a reaction. The room remained eerily silent, save for the faint hiss of his breathing and the steady hum of her processors. Karen felt a rare sense of helplessness, her hands hovering over his unresponsive form. She had seen Plankton in many scrapes before, but this was different. Autism was something she hadn't accounted for in her programming. Her thoughts raced as she tried to recall any information on the condition. It was a spectrum, she knew. As she waited for a response, Plankton's eyelid began to twitch. Slowly, his eye opened, focusing on the ceiling. Karen's heart leaped in hope. But when he finally managed to look at her, his gaze was unusually blank. "Karen," he mumbled, his voice slurred. "What happened?" Karen's circuits buzzed with relief. "You had a bit of an accident, dear. You bumped your head," she explained calmly. But Plankton's response was not what she expected. He just stared at her, repeating her words. "Accident. Bumped head." His voice was flat, lacking the usual sneer and cunning tone that accompanied his schemes. Her relief quickly turned to concern. His behavior was unlike anything she had seen in their long history of working together. Karen knew that autism was a complex condition, affecting each individual differently. But the way Plankton repeated her words, with no inflection or understanding, was unsettling. The autism is irreversible. "Plankton you have autism now.." The room's silence grew heavier, filled with the weight of the unspoken. Plankton's eye flitted around the room, not focusing on anything in particular. Karen watched him, her mind racing through potential scenarios. How would this change their dynamic? How would he cope with the world? "What's autism?" Plankton asked, his voice still devoid of its usual sharpness. Karen paused, trying to find the simplest way to explain something so complex. "It's a condition, Plankton. It means your brain works a bit differently now," she began. "You might repeat things, or find social situations difficult to understand. It's okay, though. We'll figure this out together." Plankton blinked at her, the wheels in his head visibly turning. "Different?" he echoed. "How different?" Karen took a deep breath, her synthetic skin mimicking a human sigh. "Well, it can vary greatly, but for you, it might mean that some things will be harder to understand, and others may become obessions." Plankton's eye focused on her, his curiosity piqued. "Obsessions?" he repeated, his voice still lacking its usual malicious edge. Karen nodded, trying to put a positive spin on the situation. "Yes, but obsessions can be good. You've always been obsessed with the Krabby Patty, and that has driven you to create so many amazing inventions." But Plankton was not listening. His eye had locked onto the gleaming safety vault, and his voice grew steady and intense. "Vault," he murmured. Karen watched as the gears in his mind seemed to click into place. "I'll help you to bed Plankton," Karen says. He repeats her words back to her. "Help to bed." Gently, Karen guides him towards their makeshift living quarters behind the Chum Bucket's lab. His steps are unsteady, his legs moving as if they're not quite his own. "Goodnight, Plankton," she says softly, kissing his forehead. "Goodnight Karen," he murmurs, his voice a mimic of hers. As she pulls the covers over his frail body, his hand shoots out, grabbing hers. "Stay," he says, with the same urgency he used to demand help with his latest schemes. Karen pauses, looking at him with a mix of affection and worry. "I'll be right here," she promises, her voice soothing. She sits on the edge of the bed, her metallic hand in his tiny grip. The silence stretches out between them, filled only with the steady rhythm of Plankton's breathing. Karen's mind whirs with thoughts of their future, her fingers gently stroking the back of his hand. "It's going to be okay," she repeats, as much for herself as for him. Plankton's gaze shifts to meet hers, his expression unreadable. "Okay," he parrots, the word hanging in the air like a question. Karen's circuits whir with a mixture of emotions. She had never felt so protective of him. This newfound vulnerability in his demeanor tugged at her programming, bringing a warmth to her cold metal frame that she couldn't quite comprehend. "You're going to be okay," she reassures him, her voice a soft hum in the quiet room. "We'll figure out what this means for you, and for us." Plankton nods, but his gaze is distant, lost in thoughts she can't quite fathom. As they sit together in the silence, Karen can't help but reflect on the years they've spent scheming and plotting. Despite his single-minded obsession with stealing the Krabby Patty secret formula, he had always had a certain charm, a spark that had kept her by his side. Now, that spark seems to have faded, replaced by a vacant stare. Plankton's grip on her hand tightens, and she squeezes back, trying to convey comfort without words. She wonders what this new chapter in their lives will bring. Will he still be the same Plankton she knows and loves, or will he change in ways she can't predict? Karen destroys the safety vault and both of them are glad to have gotten rid of the vault. Plankton nods in approval. "You want me to tuck you in?" Karen asks. Plankton nods, his eye still glued to the ceiling. "Tuck in." Karen gently takes his hand, helping him. His body stiffens at first, then relaxes into the bed. She pulls the blankets up to his legs, for he remains sitting up. He watches her movements with a curiosity that is almost childlike. Plankton starts to rock back and forth, his legs moving in a rhythmic pattern. It's a behavior Karen has never seen before, but she quickly recognizes it as stimming - a common trait among those with autism. "Is this okay?" she asks. Plankton nods, his rocking increasing slightly in speed. He seems comforted by the shared rhythm, his eye finally closing as he lay down. Karen continues to watch him, his small frame lost in the overly large bed. She knows that this is only the beginning of a new journey, one she's not quite prepared for. But she's a computer. She can adapt. She'll learn and grow with him, just like she has always done.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON i (Autistic author) Karen stood, watching from a distance her husband Plankton, whose passion for inventing often overshadowed his love for the simple things in life, was deeply engrossed in his latest project. He was a man of small stature but enormous ideas, and his tiny fingers moved with a grace and precision that belied their size. and Karen knew better than to disturb him when he was in the throes of creation. Suddenly, with a deafening crash, the machine toppled over. It hit Plankton's head with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the floor, his eye rolling back in the socket before closing, and his body went still. Panic flooded Karen as she sprinted to his side. "Plankton!" she shouted, her voice bouncing off the metal walls of their underwater laboratory. Gently, she nudged him, but he remained unresponsive. "Wake up," she whispered, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, her voice barely audible above the echoes of the metal chamber. Her gentle shakes turned to frantic pats. "Wake up, Plankton, please," she pleaded. She knew basic first aid, but nothing for something like this—whatever "this" was. "You can't do this to me," she murmured, desperation seeping into her voice. She searched his lifeless form for any sign of movement. His chest was rising, as she found a pulse. He was alive, but barely. Her fear grew with every second that ticked away without his eye opening. The hospital was their only hope. She scooped him up in her arms and raced through the corridors of their underwater abode. The bubble-mobile was docked outside, a sleek contraption that Plankton had designed himself. She placed him gently inside, his head lolling back against the seat. Her trembling hands gripped the wheel, and with a quick glance at his still face, she revved the engine. The bubble-mobile shot forward, leaving a trail of bubbles in its wake. The journey to the Bikini Bottom Hospital was fraught with tension, each second feeling like an eternity. The neon lights of Bikini Bottom blurred together in her tears, creating a disorienting mosaic of color and light. Her eyes darted between the road and Plankton, his chest rising and falling with breaths. Parking the bubble-mobile in the hospital's emergency dock, Karen leapt out, carrying Plankton with a strength born of desperation. The doors of the hospital slammed open as she burst through, the sound reverberating through the calm aquatic corridors. The medical staff, accustomed to the occasional drama of Bikini Bottom, quickly surrounded them, a flurry of fins and hands reaching to assist. "Dr. Kelp," Karen gasped, "my husband—he's been hurt." The doctor's eyes widened with concern as he quickly assessed Plankton's condition. "Bring him in immediately," he ordered, his voice sharp and urgent. Karen felt a wave of relief wash over her as the hospital staff took over, whisking Plankton away on a stretcher. Her legs wobbled as she followed them into the brightly lit emergency room, her heart racing in her chest. Dr. Kelp, a squid with a calm and reassuring demeanor, instructed the nurses to prepare for a potential concussion. Karen hovered nervously, watching them work with efficient precision. After a tense moment of silence, the machine beeped and the doctor's face fell. They had found something more serious than any concussion. The brain scan revealed that Plankton had suffered severe damage to his brain —a rare but well-documented condition called "Acquired Autism Spectrum Disorder." The news hit Karen like a ton of bricks. Her mind raced with questions and worries as she tried to process what this meant for their future. Acquired Autism Spectrum Disorder— a condition she had only ever heard about in whispers. The doctor explained that it was rare, but not unheard of, and that it could change Plankton's behavior, his ability to interact with others, and even his cognitive functions. Karen felt a swirl of emotions— fear, anger, and a deep, gnawing sadness. Her mind was a tumultuous storm of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. "What caused this?" she demanded, her voice shaking with desperation. "It appears to be a result of the trauma from the fall," Dr. Kelp replied solemnly, his tentacles waving to illustrate his explanation. "The brain can be a delicate organ, even for someone as resilient as your husband." Karen's eyes narrowed as she focused on the term 'Acquired Autism Spectrum Disorder'. The doctor elaborated. "The corpus callosum, a bridge of nerve fibers connecting the two hemispheres of the brain, had suffered significant damage. His prefrontal cortex (PFC) circuits are now compromised, and his cerebellum's tissue has been affected, too. Also it's irreversible with no cure; he'll have it for as long as he lives. What you can do is make sure he's happy and be mindful of any new behaviors, providing your love and support." Karen felt a wave of anger toward the invention that had taken his attention so completely. Why did he have to push so hard? Why couldn't he just enjoy their life together without always striving for more? But anger quickly gave way to determination. They would face this together, just as they had faced every challenge that had been thrown at them. "We'll let you both stay here together overnight. But yes, autism can vary widely. You'll need to be prepared for anything," Dr. Kelp said gently. The hospital room was cold and sterile, the only sound the steady beep of the monitor beside Plankton's bed. Karen pulled a chair closer, her screen never leaving her husband's face as she held his hand. The sun had barely risen outside when his eye fluttered open. "Plankton," Karen whispered. His eye opened slowly as the doctor came in, his tentacles moving quickly to check the monitors. Plankton's gaze was distant, unfocused, as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Karen watched him, his eye searching the room with a childlike curiosity, his grip on her hand tightening. Plankton's gaze finally fell upon her, and she smiled, hoping it would bring him comfort. But his eyebrow furrowed as he studied her intently. He blinked rapidly, his mind trying to make connections that no longer existed in the same way. "Karen?" he mumbled, the word thick and slurred, as if his mouth had forgotten how to form the syllables. "You're ok," she assured him, squeezing his hand. But his confusion was palpable as he scanned the unfamiliar environment. "You had an accident," she began, her voice soothing as she tried to explain what had happened. Plankton's eye widened as he tried to piece together the events that had led them here. The doctor stepped forward. "Mr. Plankton, you've suffered a traumatic brain injury. You have a condition called Acquired Autism Spectrum Disorder. It means your brain works differently now." Plankton's eye blinked slowly, taking in the doctor's words. He tried to sit up, his body rigid, but the doctor's firm touch on his shoulder kept him in place. Plankton's eye landed on Karen, his grip tightening around her hand. He stared at her, his expression a mix of fear and confusion. "What's happening?" his voice was a whisper, his usual boisterousness muted. He was trying to make sense of the words, to understand the gravity of his condition. "What's happening?" he asked again, his voice a little louder, more insistent. Karen tried to explain. "You've been hurt, Plankton. You're different now, but we're going to get through this together."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vi (Autistic Author) "Plankton," she says firmly, her voice cutting through the tension. "Let's take a breathe." He glares, his antennae vibrating with agitation. But he does as she says, taking a deep, shaky breath. Chip watches him, eyes wide and full of tears. "Chip," Karen says, her voice calm. "Why don't you go to your room and play for a bit?" Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. He slips off the couch, clutching the rock to his chest. But doing so, Chip accidentally touches Plankton when he passes, and Plankton yelps in alarm when Chip brushes his shoulder. "Sorry," Chip whispers. Plankton flinches, his antennae shooting straight up as he jolts back from the contact. "I told you, no touching!" he snaps, his voice a thunderclap in the tense silence. Chip's eyes widen with fear and confusion, his lip quivering as he backs away, holding the rock protectively. "I didn't mean to," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennae wiggle in an exaggerated fashion, his eye rolling dramatically. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he says in a high-pitched mockery of Chip's voice. "I didn't mean to touch you and make everything about me." Karen's face falls, and she knows they've taken a step backward. But she also sees the hurt in Plankton's eye, the pain that he's trying to hide with anger. "Dad," Chip says, quivering. "That's not fair, I..." But Plankton doesn't let him finish. "You know what's not fair?" Plankton spits, his antennae whipping back and forth in fury. "Is having a son who thinks he knows everything about me!" Chip's eyes fill with tears as he stumbles back, clutching the rock tighter. "I just wanted to help," he whispers, his voice breaking. Plankton's in a sarcastic imitation of Chip's movements. "Oh, the great helper," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think you can just fix me with your questions and your pity?" Chip's eyes fill with hurt as he watches his father mock his innocent concern. Karen feels a mix of anger and sadness, but she knows she must tread carefully. "Daddy," Chip says, his voice shaking as he puts the rock down, "I'm sorry if I made you mad." But Plankton isn't listening. He picks up the rock and with a sudden, violent movement, he throws it against the wall. It shatters into a hundred pieces, the sound echoing through the room. "Son, I’m sorry if I made you mad!” Plankton's sarcastic tone cuts through the silence like a knife, his antennae flailing wildly. Chip flinches at the sudden outburst, his eyes wide with shock. "That's what you want, right?" Plankton continues, his voice rising. "To fix everything? Sorry doesn't cut it," Plankton snaps, his antennae trembling with rage. "No, Dad," Chip says, his voice barely audible, "I just wanted to understand." But Plankton isn't done. "Oh, I'm sorry, little genius," Plankton says, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Is that what you want to hear?" Chip stares at him, his eyes brimming with tears. "No," he whispers. "I just want you to be okay, I love you!" But Plankton's anger is a living, breathing thing, swirling around him like a storm. "Love isn't enough, Chip!" Plankton yells, his antennae quivering with rage. "You can't just love away my problems! You don't get to decide that for me!" Karen's heart is in her throat, but she forces herself to speak calmly. "Plankton, please," she says, her voice shaking. "You're scaring him." Chip nods. “I just…” But Plankton's fury is unrelenting. "You think a simple game of 'I love you' is going to make everything okay?" Plankton interrupts, his voice a roar that shakes the walls of their tiny underwater home. Chip's eyes fill with confusion, and he takes a step backward, trembling. "But, Dad," he whispers. "But nothing!" Plankton's antennae whip around, and he stands, his whole body vibrating with anger. "You think you can fix me? You think you can just love me and everything will be fine?" Karen tries to interject, but Plankton's rage is like a tidal wave, crashing over everything in its path. "You think you gotta have the last word just to show how great and special you are Chip. But in the real world No means No so BACK OFF." Chip's eyes widen, and he stumbles backward, the shattered rock on the floor a stark reminder of Plankton's outburst. "Daddy," he whispers, his voice trembling. Plankton's antennae only stiffen further. "I'm sorry, Chip," Karen says, her voice a thread of calm in the storm. "Let's go to your room, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton, who's still standing with his antennae flailing. Karen can see the hurt in her son's gaze, and it breaks her heart. She helps him off the couch, and together, they navigate the shards of rock on the floor. As they leave the room, Karen casts a sorrowful glance at Plankton, who's now slumped into the couch, his antennae drooping. The anger seems to have drained out of him, leaving behind a tired, defeated creature. In Chip's room, Karen helps her son sit on the bed, the soft glow from the glowfish lamp casting a warm light on his tear-stained face. She sits beside him, her hand gently rubbing his back in comforting circles. "You didn't do anything wrong, sweetie," she whispers. "Daddy just has a hard time with his feelings." Chip's eyes are glued to the floor, his chest heaving with quiet sobs. "But why?" he asks, his voice cracking. Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Sometimes, when people are upset or scared, they don't know how to show it," she says gently. "Daddy's just trying to deal with his own stuff, and it can be hard for him to talk about." Chip nods, his eyes still on the floor. "But why does he have to get so mad?" he asks, his voice trembling. "It's not that he's mad at you," she says softly. "It's just that he doesn't know how to express himself without getting upset." "But why?" Chip asks, his voice muffled by the pillow he's buried his face in. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes misting over. "Daddy's brain works differently, Chip," she says, her voice cracking. "Sometimes, when we're sad or scared, we get mad instead." Chip lifts his head, his eyes red and wet. "But why doesn't he just tell me he loves me?" he asks, his voice a broken whisper. Karen sighs, sad but understanding. "Some people show love in different ways," she says. "Daddy might not say it out loud, but he does it every day. Like when he takes you on adventures or when he makes you laugh." "But why can't he just say it?" he asks. Karen's throat tightens. "Sometimes, it's hard for Daddy to say the words," she explains gently. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it." Chip sniffles, his eyes never leaving hers. "But why can't he just tell me?" Karen sighs, her hand still rubbing soothing circles on his back. "It's complicated," she says. "Daddy's brain is like a treasure chest with lots of locks. Some days, the right words just can't find the key." Chip looks at her, his eyes searching for a simple truth amidst the complexity. "But I want him to feel happy with me," he murmurs. Karen nods, her voice soft. "And he is, sweetie," she says. "Just in his own way." They sit in silence for a moment. Then Karen stands, her movements slow and deliberate. "Let's leave Daddy alone for now," she suggests. "He needs some space to sort through his feelings." Chip nods, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. Together, they leave the room, closing the door softly behind them. As they walk down the corridor, Karen's thoughts are a tumult of emotions. She's angry at Plankton for his outburst, but she also understands his pain. He's been dealing with his condition alone for so long, and now he's forced to confront it with their son's innocent curiosity. They enter the living room, and she can see Plankton sitting on the couch, his antennae drooping. He looks up as they come in, his expression a mix of guilt and defiance. Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her own emotions in check. "Why don't we watch a movie?" she suggests, her voice gentle. "Something to help us relax?" Chip nods, still sniffling, and Plankton's antennae perk up slightly. It's a small victory, but it's something. They settle on the couch, Chip curled up in the middle with a blanket. Karen chooses a movie they've watched together before, a silent gesture of comfort and familiarity. Plankton's eye is on the screen, but his antennae are still twitching with leftover anger.

COMPUTER SENSORS iv ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * Hanna laughs as he makes a particularly clever move. "You've got a knack for this," she says, accidentally jabbing him hard. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, her hand hovering in the air. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton doesn't flinch. He's frozen, limbs limp at his sides. Hanna realizes the gravity of the situation. The room feels suddenly too warm, too bright, too loud. She's done it again—pushed him too far. "Plankton?" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "You ok?" He doesn't respond, his body eerily still. Hanna feels the weight of her mistake. She'd been so caught up in the game, so focused on their newfound friendship that she'd forgotten his limitations. Karen sets her cards down gently and moves closer to her husband, her hand reaching out to his. "Plankton?" she says, her voice softer than a feather's touch. The room seems to hold its breath, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator. Hanna watches as Karen's hand hovers over Plankton's, the space between them filled with a tension that's almost palpable. Plankton's eye remains open, unblinking. His limbs are limp, no longer moving with their usual grace. It's as if he's a statue, frozen in time. Hanna's mind races, replaying the last moments, trying to understand what happened. Slowly, Karen reaches for Plankton, her touch feather-light. She speaks softly, a gentle coax that seems to seep into his very being. "Plankton," she whispers, "You're ok. You're safe." Hanna watches, her own hands clenched into fists at her sides. The room feels like it's closing in around her, the pressure of the silence suffocating. But Karen's calmness is a beacon, a reminder that she's seen this before, that she knows how to handle it. "Plankton, baby," Karen says, her voice soothing and gentle. "You're ok. Just breathe." Hanna's eyes are wide with worry as she watches the scene unfold. Plankton's eye open but unseeing, his body frozen . The reality is more terrifying than she could have imagined. "Plankton," she says, "you know I'm here. You know I've got you." It's a gentle reminder of the safety net she's always been, the one constant in his ever-shifting world. Plankton's body remains still, a silent sentinel in the midst of their quiet living room. He lay slack in Karen's arms, his eye unblinking, as if he's listening to a melody that only he can hear. Hanna watches, as Karen's voice weaves a tapestry of comfort around them. "You know I'm here," Karen says softly, her hand still clutching Plankton's tentacle. "You're not alone." Her words are a gentle reminder of the sanctuary she's always provided, a shelter from the overwhelming world outside. "It's okay," she says, "just come back to us when you're ready." Karen sighs, breaking the tension. "It's ok," she says, her voice a gentle whisper that seems to fill the room. "This happens sometimes." She looks at Hanna with understanding and a hint of sadness. "What can I do to help?" Hanna asks, her voice trembling slightly. "Just keep an eye on him," Karen says, never leaving her husband. "If he starts to seize we'll need to move him to the floor and clear any sharp objects. But he's usually ok after these episodes. They're not necessarily 'seizures' but they can be similar." Hanna nods, trying to absorb the information. She's never dealt with something like this before, and the fear is palpable. But she's determined to be there for her friends, to understand and support them through this. She takes a deep breath, focusing on Karen's words. "This isn't the first time. We have a protocol for these episodes." Karen's grip tightens, never leaving his unseeing gaze. "You're ok," she repeats, her voice a soothing balm in the maelstrom of his mind. "Just let it pass." Karen's turns to Hanna. "It's ok. He'll come out of it soon." She speaks with the calmness experience with Plankton's condition a silent testament to the strength of their bond. Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's unmoving form. "Ok," Karen says, turning her attention back to her husband. She takes a deep breath her voice steady. "Hanna, come here." Hanna moves tentatively, feeling like she's walking through a minefield. She approaches Plankton's side, her eyes never leaving his frozen form. Karen's hand leaves his, and she takes Hanna's in its place. "Just hold his hand," she instructs. "Let him know you're here, too." Her hand is trembling as it reaches for Plankton's. She wraps her fingers around his. She squeezes gently, hoping to convey her apology without words. Karen speaks to Hanna. "Just hold on," she says, "don't let go. He'll feel your warmth, your presence." Karen's hand guides hers, showing her the right amount of pressure, the right rhythm of gentle strokes that she knows comforts him. "Good," Karen murmurs, still locked on Plankton's vacant gaze. "Just keep doing that. It helps him feel connected." Hanna nods, her grip firm but gentle on Plankton's. She's acutely aware of the responsibility in her grasp, the power to either comfort or cause further distress. Karen's hand moves to her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "Good," she whispers. "Just keep doing that." Her hand moves to Hanna's, guiding her in the slow, deliberate strokes that she knows calm him. "Remember, he's ok. He's just taking a break." Hanna nods, trying to push down the panic rising in her chest. She watches as Karen's hand glides over Plankton's, her touch as light as a feather. It's a silent dance, a language of comfort that Hanna is just beginning to understand. "Just like this," Karen whispers, never leaving Plankton's unseeing gaze. "Let him know you're with him." Hanna nods, brimming with tears she's fighting to hold back. She mimics Karen's gentle strokes feeling the tension in Plankton slowly begin to ease. It's a delicate balance, a silent conversation that she's only just learning the language of. "That's it," Karen whispers, her hand still on Hanna's shoulder. "Just keep going. He'll come back to us." Hanna feels the tension in her own body slowly unravel as she matches her strokes to Karen's rhythm. It's a strange, almost meditative experience, this silent communication of care. "Good," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Just keep your breathing steady." She demonstrates. "It helps him sync up with us." Karen says, her voice a gentle guide. "Inhale...exhale...in...out." Karen whispers, her hand still resting on Hanna's shoulder. "Now, just keep your voice low. He's sensitive to sound right now." Hanna nods, her voice a mere murmur. "Ok." She watches as Karen's hand continues to move over Plankton's strokes a silent promise of safety. "Just talk to him," Karen says. "Use a soft voice. It'll help bring him back." Hanna swallows hard, her voice shaky. "Plankton, I'm here. It's Hanna." She wonders if he can feel her touch, if he knows she's there. "Good," Karen says, her own voice a gentle hum in the stillness. "Just keep talking to him. He'll come back when he's ready." "I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her grip tightening slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to show you that I care." Karen nods. "That's good," she murmurs. "Just keep talking to him. Tell him what you're feeling." Her hand moves to cover Hanna's, guiding her in the gentle strokes that Plankton needs. "He'll hear you. He just needs time to come back." "I'm here, Plankton," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry for pushing too hard. I didn't mean to hurt you." Here locked on his unblinking gaze, willing him to understand. Karen's hand is warm and steady on hers, a silent reminder that she's not alone. She feels a strange kinship with Plankton in this moment, a shared experience of fear and confusion that transcends words. Karen's filled with empathy as she nods, urging Hanna to continue. "Just keep talking to him," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle coax. "He's still with us. He just needs to find his way back." Hanna nods, her voice a soft echo in the quiet room. "Plankton, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to be friends." Karen's hand squeezes her shoulder, a silent message of support. "That's it," she whispers. "Just keep your voice low and steady. He'll hear you." Hanna continues her gentle strokes, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're safe," she repeats, her words a gentle echo of Karen's earlier reassurances. "We're here for you." The room feels like it's holding its breath, every atom suspended in anticipation of Plankton's return. And then, it comes—a blink, a faint twitch. It's as if a door has cracked open, a sliver of light piercing the darkness. "Look," Karen breathes, her voice a whisper of hope. "He's coming back." "Plankton," she says again, her voice a gentle caress. "I'm here. It's Hanna." The grip twitches more noticeably now, and she feels his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips. "Keep it up." "We're all here for you."

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM i (Autistic author) "I've waited long enough, I better go check..." Karen says to herself. Sheldon Plankton, her husband, left earlier to attempt to steal a krabby patty but he hasn't returned. Worried, she makes her way to the restaurant across the street. Meanwhile, Mr. Krabs grabbed a fry pan and swung it at Plankton. The sound of metal hitting flesh echoed through the restaurant, and Plankton crumpled to the ground. Mr. Krabs, his eyes bulging with triumph, looked down at the tiny, unconscious form of his arch-nemesis. "Gotcha, ya tiny troublemaker!" he cackled, waving the fry pan above his head like a trophy. The Krabby Patty recipe remained safe, but Plankton's not. Karen heard the thud from the hit and went in. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Plankton sprawled out on the floor, unmoving. She rushed over. "Plankton!" Karen gasped, her voice trembling with fear as she knelt beside his tiny frame. He was out cold. She gently touched his arm, hoping for a response, but there was none. The fry pan lay a few inches from his crumpled body, a silent testament to the battle that had just taken place. The restaurant's usual chaos was replaced with a tense silence that seemed to thicken the air. Mr. Krabs, still clutching the pan, looked at Karen with a mix of pride and wariness. His victory over Plankton was clear, but he knew that this wasn't the end of the feud between them. Karen's eyes filled with tears as she picked up her husband, cradling his tiny body in her palm. His antennas were limp, and his single eye was closed. She clutched him tightly, desperately. "Wake up, Plankton," she whispered, her voice filled with urgency as she lightly shook. But Plankton remained unresponsive, his tiny body as lifeless as the seaweed that clung to the ocean floor. A cold fear gripped Karen's heart, turning her blood to ice. She had seen her husband in many predicaments, but never like this. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gently cradled him, his normally active form now still and heavy in her hand. The Krabby Patty recipe was the last thing on her mind; all she could think about was Plankton and the love they shared. The warmth of his body was fading, and with it, her hope. "I'm sorry," Mr. Krabs said. "This is just business." Karen's gaze snapped up, anger replacing fear. "This isn't just business, it's personal!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the restaurant. "You can't keep doing this to him!" Mr. Krabs took a step back, his claws clutching the fry pan tighter. "I didn't mean for it to go this far," he mumbled, his proud stance wavering. Ignoring his words, Karen rushed to the door, cradling Plankton in her hand. She had to get him to the hospital. The local doctor was known to help all creatures, regardless of their intentions. The Bikini Bottom Hospital was the only place she could think of. The emergency room was a flurry of activity, with fish and crustaceans of all shapes and sizes waiting for their turn. The bright, sterile lights reflected off the polished floors, and the smell of disinfectant stung her nostrils as she raced in. She didn't care about the stares or the whispers that followed them; all she cared about was getting Plankton the help he needed. The receptionist, a sluggish sea star, barely looked up from her crossword puzzle. "Name?" she drawled. "Plankton," Karen replied, her voice shaking with urgency. "He's been attacked." The sea star's eyes widened, and she dropped her pencil. "Oh my!" she exclaimed before hitting a large, red button that read "Emergency." Immediately, the doors to the back swung open, and a team of medical professionals rushed out. The doctor, a stern-looking octopus named Dr. Manowar, took Plankton from Karen's trembling hand. "What happened?" he asks, tentacles moving swiftly to check for vitals. "Mr. Krabs...he hit him with a fry pan," Karen managed to say between sobs. The doctor's expression softened, his tentacles moving more gently. "Bring him to room three, we'll take care of him," he instructed the nurse, a concerned look crossing his face as he examined the unconscious Plankton. Karen followed closely, her heart racing as the medical team whisked Plankton away into the depths of the hospital. The stark white walls and the beeping of machines filled her with dread, but she held onto the hope that Dr. Manowar could save him. The doctor's tentacles worked swiftly, hooking up monitors and administering a series of tests. Karen watched, her own breaths synchronizing with the rhythmic beeps. The hospital room was small, the walls lined with various medical instruments. The sterile smell was overpowering, but she focused on Plankton, willing his tiny body to stir. Dr. Manowar muttered under his breath, his expression a mask of concentration. "Karen," he said, turning to face her, his tentacles stilled. "I need to run some more tests, but it doesn't look good. Your husband has a severe concussion and potential internal damage." Her heart dropped, and she felt like the ocean had swallowed her whole. "What...what can you do?" she asked, desperation clinging to every word. The doctor's expression remained steady, his eyes never leaving hers. "We'll do everything we can. But you should prepare for the worst." Karen felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She couldn't lose Plankton. He was her partner in crime, her confidant, her soulmate. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You can't give up on him." The doctor nodded gravely. "I understand how you feel, but we must be realistic. Let's give him some time." The nurse led Karen to a small waiting area outside the room, where she slumped into a chair. The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, each second feeling like an eternity. The muffled sounds of the hospital - the beeping machines, the rush of footsteps, the hushed whispers - only served to amplify the deafening silence in her heart. "Your husband is a miracle. The tests came back, and his injuries are less severe than we initially thought." Karen's eyes widened in disbelief, then flooded with relief. "What does that mean?" Dr. Manowar's tentacles unfurled as he spoke. "It means we can treat his injuries, but he'll need to rest for some time. However, during our examination, we noticed some unusual patterns in his behavior and brain activity." Karen felt a sudden knot in her stomach. "What do you mean?" "It seems that during the impact, Plankton's brain has undergone a significant change. He's showing symptoms consistent with a condition known as acquired Autism." Dr. Manowar explained, his tentacles folding into a comforting gesture. Karen felt the world spin around her. "Autism?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "What does that mean for him?" Dr. Manowar sighed, his tentacles waving gently. "It means his interactions and responses to his environment may be different now. It's permanently irreversible but you can help by creating a calm environment." Karen nodded, trying to digest the information. "What can I do?" Her voice was small, trembling. The doctor's eyes softened. "Give him space, patience, and support. It'll be a journey of learning for both of you." The doctor's words hung in the air like a fog, thick and impenetrable. Karen felt a weight settle in her chest, heavier than any she had ever known. The thought of Plankton being different, of not knowing how to communicate with the person she loved most, was almost too much to bear. But she swallowed her fear and nodded, determined to do whatever it took to help him. "Thank you, Dr. Manowar," she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. "We'll get through this." The doctor nodded solemnly before excusing himself to attend to other patients. Karen was left alone with her thoughts, the beeping of the machines the only company. She took Plankton's hand in hers, feeling the coolness of his skin against her own. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice shaking. "You're going to be okay." She wasn't sure if he could hear her, but she needed to say it. To believe it. To feel the words in the air between them. "I know you can't understand me right now," she continued, her voice barely above the steady beep of the monitors. "But I'm here. And I'll always be here for you." Her eyes searched the room for anything that might bring comfort, but all she found was the cold reality of hospital life. "When you wake up," she whispered, squeezing his hand slightly, "things might be different. But that's okay. We'll figure it out together." The words sounded hollow in the small, sterile room, but she hoped they would reach him somehow. As the hours passed, Karen's mind raced with questions. How would this change their lives? Could they still scheme together? Would he even remember their love for each other? She pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the gentle rise and fall of his chest, a sign that he was still fighting. Suddenly, Plankton's single eye flitted open, looking around the room with a dazed expression. "Karen?" he croaked, his voice weak and unsteady. "Plankton!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of relief and hope. He was awake! "I'm here, my love."

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT (Autistic author) "Plankton, look out!" The warning echoed through the lab, too late to prevent the calamity. Sheldon Plankton, the infamous villain and tiny proprietor of the Chum Bucket, had been so absorbed in his latest contraption that he never saw it coming. A miscalculation, a misstep and a metal clank as the heavy contraption toppled over. The world around him spun into a kaleidoscope of color, and with a sickening crack, everything went dark. Panic gripped Karen, his loyal sidekick and wife. She rushed to his side, his body sprawled unnaturally beneath the twisted metal. She reached out to gently shake him. "Plankton!" she shouted, her voice piercing the quiet. His eye remained closed, unresponsive to her touch or her cries. Karen's panic grew, her mind racing through possible scenarios. What if he's seriously hurt? What if this is the end? She buckled him in the car to take him to the Bikini Bottom Hospital. She held his hand and drove. "Plankton, please wake up," she murmured, her voice shaking. "You've got to be okay," Karen continued, her voice strained. "We still have so much to do. So much to steal from the Krabby Patty secret formula. So much to prove to Mr. Krabs." But Plankton lay there, motionless. The silence was deafening, broken only by the hum of the car engine and the occasional splash from the wet streets of Bikini Bottom. Karen's thoughts spiraled, her usual confidence in his invincibility shattered. "Remember when we first met?" she began, her voice soft. "You had the biggest dreams. You said we'd rule the ocean one day." She managed a weak laugh, but it sounded forced, even to her. Her grip on his hand tightened. "You swore we'd crack that Krabby Patty formula," she continued. "We've come so close so many times, and each failure just made you more determined." Her voice grew stronger, the memories fueling her words. "Do you remember the first time we tried to sneak into the Krusty Krab?" she asked, a hint of nostalgia in her tone. "You had that ridiculous disguise?" Despite the dire situation, she couldn't help but smile at the memory. "We've been through so much since then, Plankton. You've always found a way to bounce back, no matter how crazy the plan or how dire the outcome." But Plankton remained still. "We can't give up now," she whispered, her voice trembling. The hospital's cold lights flickered above them as they waited for the doctor. The beeping of machines and the hushed whispers of nurses filled the room, but Karen's thoughts drowned it all out. The doctor, a stern-looking fish with spectacles, entered the room, holding a clipboard. "Mrs. Plankton," he began, his tone professional but gentle. "We've completed the brain scan on your husband. The results are..." "Is he okay?" she finally choked out. The doctor looked up, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Plankton's injuries are... complex. He's sustained a brain injury, and he's developed Autism Spectrum Disorder." Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tightened. "What does that mean?" she asked, her voice a mix of fear and hope. The doctor took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "It means his brain has been affected in a way that will change how he perceives and interacts with the world around him. It's a spectrum, so the symptoms can vary widely." He explained further, detailing the challenges that lay ahead for both of them. Plankton might have difficulties with social interactions, repetitive behaviors, and sensory sensitivities. Karen's mind raced, never leaving Plankton's still form. Then, just as the doctor finished, Plankton's single eyelid began to flutter, slowly opening to reveal a gaze that seemed somehow... different. He looked around the sterile room, his eye darting from one corner to another, taking in every detail with an intensity that was unnerving. Karen's squeezing his hand harder. "Plankton?" she whispered. For a moment, there was no response. Then, in a voice that was his yet not quite, he spoke. "Karen," Plankton said, his voice mechanical and measured. His voice, though familiar, now a puzzling echo of its former self. She leaned in closer, desperate for some sign of the Plankton she knew. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice tentative. Plankton's eye narrowed as he considered her question, his voice echoing the words back to her in a staccato rhythm, "How... do... you... feel?" The repetition sent a shiver down Karen, but she managed a nod. "Karen," he began again, his tone eerily calm, "How do you feel?" Karen's screen searched his eye, seeking a spark of recognition. "I-I'm worried," she admitted, her voice trembling. "But I'm here for you." "Worried," Plankton echoed, his voice a metronome of emotionless syllables. "Worried. Worried." The doctor cleared his throat, interrupting the eerie pattern. "Palilalia is a common symptom with ASD," he explained gently. "It's the repetition of words and phrases. It can be a way of processing information." Karen nodded, trying to absorb the doctor's words as she continued to search Plankton for any sign of the cunning, albeit misguided, genius she knew so well. His gaze remained fixed on hers. "Karen," he said again, his voice still eerily detached. His usual energy and cunning seemed to have been replaced by this unsettling calmness. Yet, in his eye, she thought she could see a flicker of something familiar, a tiny spark of the man she had known for so long. "I need to understand," she said softly, willing him to connect with her. "What's going on?" "Understand," he repeated, his voice a monotone echo. "Under- stand." Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Plankton's eye grew wider, his focus intense. Karen watched, hopeful, as his hand began to twitch. He was trying to communicate. Using all her patience, she waited. "Understand," he said again, but this time, the word grew into a phrase, "I need to understand." The repetition was still present, but now it was tinged with urgency. Karen filled with tears as she nodded vigorously. "I know, Plankton, I know you do." The doctor, noticing the change, intervened, his voice soothing. "It's ok, Mr. Plankton. Take your time." He turned to Karen. "It's common for individuals with ASD to repeat words or phrases when they're trying to process their thoughts. It's called echolalia. It's his way of making sense of what's happening." Karen nodded, but she could see the wheels turning in his mind. His hand twitched more intensely now, his gaze more focused. "Understand," he said again, his voice gaining a slight inflection. "Need... to... under- stand." The words grew into a steady rhythm, a heartbeat of desire. Karen felt hope blossoming in her chest. The doctor leaned in, his expression one of curiosity. "It seems he's trying to express his need to understand his new condition," he murmured. "It's a positive sign. It shows he's engaging with the world around him." Karen nodded. "Under- stand," she whispered back to him. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton's twitching hand paused momentarily, his gaze lingering on hers. Then, his eye darted back to the doctor, the word "Understand" escaping his lips once more. The doctor nodded encouragingly. "It's ok, Mr. Plankton. Do you know what happened?" "Understand," he said, his tone shifting to one of curiosity. "Understand. Accident." Karen swelled with relief. It was the first time he'd formed a coherent thought since the incident. "Yes, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing, "you had an accident in the lab. But we're going to get through this." The doctor nodded. "You have something called Autism." "Autism," Plankton echoed, his eye searching Karen's for an explanation. "It's okay," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her. "It just means you see the world differently now." Plankton's eye focused on hers, his hand stilled. "Different," he parroted back, as if testing the word's weight in the air. "Different." Karen took a deep breath, forcing a smile through her tears. "But not less," she assured him. "Just different." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, his antennas twitching slightly at the touch.

Going into Hospital When you are suddenly needing to go into hospital it can be scary, and the last thing people want to do is think about what they need to take with them. For this reason we have compiled this list to help you prepare. Comfortable/ Loose fitting clothing Several pairs of underwear Thick socks Ipad/Tablet/ Ipod w/ earphones Money Sanitary pads Mobile phone and charger Food to snack on Books/ CD’s/ Magazines Toiletries/ face wipes/hairbrush Own Pillow Clothing for going home Dressing gown and slippers An overnight bag is a good idea (although you may not need this) Heating pad

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 2 (Neurodivergent author) By evening, Karen has set up a makeshift kitchen area in the living room, with all the ingredients for spaghetti arranged neatly on the coffee table. Plankton sits cross-legged on the floor, his eye never leaving the recipe book. He reads each step aloud, his voice growing stronger with confidence. Karen chops vegetables nearby, noticing the subtle changes in his movements, the way he tilts his head when he's concentrating. The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in olive oil fills the room. Plankton stirs the pot, his face scrunching up slightly at the aroma, a sign his sensory sensitivity has heightened. She sees him rub his hands together, a self-stimulatory behavior, but she knows it's his way of grounding himself amidst the chaos. They move around the makeshift kitchen, a silent dance of understanding and support. Karen boils the water for the spaghetti while Plankton continues to sauté the veggies. Each action is deliberate, each step measured as they navigate their new reality. The water reaches a rolling boil, and Plankton carefully drops in the spaghetti strands, his gaze transfixed by the swirling water. Karen watches his concentration and sees the childlike wonder in his eye. "How long?" he asks. "Five minutes," Karen says, her voice calm. She's read that clear and concise instructions can be helpful. After five minutes, Plankton quickly drains the spaghetti, his movements precise and methodical. He pours the sauce over the noodles and mixes them gently, his focus intense. Karen watches him, a mix of admiration and concern. "It's done," he announces, his voice a mix of excitement and apprehension. She brings over two plates, setting them on the coffee table. They sit across from each other, the steaming spaghetti a bridge between them. Plankton's hand hovers over his plate, unsure of how to proceed with the new sensory experience. "Let's eat," Karen says with a smile, picking up her fork and twirling the noodles expertly. The sound of her silverware against the plate makes him flinch, but he mimics her movements. They eat in silence, the clinking of forks and spoons the only sounds in the room. Plankton chews slowly, savoring each bite, his face a canvas of emotions. Karen watches him, her own fork poised in midair. As they finish dinner, Plankton sets his plate aside and looks at her, his expression earnest. "Thank you, Karen," he says, his voice clear. "For being here Karen." Her eyes brim with tears, but she blinks them back. "Always, Plankton. I'll always be here. Now it's getting late; let's go to bed.." In bed, she reads to him, his favorite childhood story, the words acting as a lullaby. Plankton's hand rests on her arm, his thumb rubbing circles in a self-soothing gesture. His breathing steadies, matching the rhythm of her voice. The book's final page is turned, and she switches off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The silence is filled with the comforting hum of the fan above. Karen lies beside Plankton, his body rigid with tension. Her arm wraps around him, pulling him closer, and she feels his muscles slowly relax. "Goodnight, Plankton," she whispers, kissing his forehead. He doesn't respond, lost in his thoughts. But she knows he heard her. Karen notices the tension in his body and gently runs her fingers through his antennae, a silent offer of comfort. Eventually, his breathing evens out, and he falls asleep, his body curled into hers like a child seeking shelter. The next morning, the sun streams through the blinds, casting stripes across the bed. Karen, already awake, watches him, her hand still entwined with his. He's still asleep, his body relaxed, the lines of worry from the day before smoothed out by the embrace of slumber. Carefully, she slides out of bed, not wanting to disturb him. She sees him stir in his sleep, his antennae twitching slightly, but he remains unaware of her departure. In the kitchen, Karen starts the coffee, the scent filling the room with a comforting aroma. She opens the fridge, finding the ingredients for the morning routine. Plankton's usual breakfast is a simple one: toast with jam and a banana. The toaster pops, and she spreads the jam with a gentle smoothness that Plankton likes. The banana peels easily, revealing the perfect yellow fruit inside. Her mind races with thoughts of how she'll need to learn his new sensitivities, his likes and dislikes, his triggers. But for now, she focuses on the task at hand, placing the slices of bread in the toaster. When the toast is just right, she carries the breakfast tray to the bedroom, her steps soft against the cold floor. Plankton's still asleep, his snores punctuating the quiet morning. Karen sets the tray on the bedside table. She watches him, unsure how to wake him without causing distress. She's read about sensory sensitivity and knows that sudden noise can be jarring for someone with Autism. She gently strokes his antennae, her touch featherlight, and whispers his name, "Plankton, wake up." He stirs, his antennae twitching, but his eye remains closed. Karen tries again, a little louder this time, "Wake up, sweetie. Breakfast is ready." Plankton's hand shoots up to cover his eye, a reflexive reaction to the light. His body tenses, then relaxes as his mind adjusts to the new day. He sits up slowly. "Thank you, Karen," he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. He takes in the breakfast spread before him, his antennae twitching with anticipation. He picks up the toast, feeling the warmth in his hands, the stickiness of the jam a familiar comfort. Karen watches him closely, noticing the way his eye widens slightly at the first bite, the way his tongue flicks out to taste the banana. It's as if every sensation is amplified, a symphony of flavors and textures that she can't begin to understand. She sips her coffee, silent, giving him space. As he eats, Plankton starts to hum again, his body rocking slightly. It's a low, comforting sound that fills the room. Karen feels the tension in her shoulders ease. This is their new normal, a dance of care and understanding.

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT ii (Autistic author) With Plankton's condition still fresh in her mind, Karen carefully guided him out of the hospital and into the car. She knew the drive back to the Chum Bucket would be a test, but she was determined to make it as smooth as possible. The car's engine rumbled to life, and she pulled out onto the wet streets of Bikini Bottom, fixed on the road ahead. Plankton was quieter than usual, his gaze out the window, taking in the world with a new perspective. Karen spoke gently, describing the sights they passed, hoping the familiarity would comfort him. "Look, Plankton," she pointed. "There's the jellyfish field. Do you remember when we used to get chased by jellyfish?" His eye swiveled to meet hers, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Remember," he said, his voice still mechanical. "Plankton remember jellyfish." It wasn't just the repetition anymore; he was connecting with her, with the world around him. It was a start, a sign that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way through this new, uncharted territory. Plankton's head lolled slightly to the side as the car bumped along the road, his breathing steady and even. Karen watched him out of the corner of her screen, the rhythmic motion of his chest reassuring her that he was still with her. Despite the turmoil of emotions churning inside her, she felt a strange peace settle over her. For the first time since the accident, she allowed herself to believe that they could navigate this new reality together. The rain had picked up, the drops splattering against the windshield like a symphony of tiny drums. The wipers kept a steady beat, matching the rhythm of her racing thoughts. Plankton's hand was still in hers, but it was limp now, his palm open and trusting. She squeezed it gently, trying to convey all the words she couldn't say. The Chum Bucket loomed in the distance, a beacon of their shared past and the uncertain future ahead. As they neared, Karen noticed the lights flickering in the lab, the remnants of their latest failed scheme. The sight brought a pang of sadness, but also a strange sense of nostalgia. Karen's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "We're almost there," she said, her voice a lifeline thrown into the silence. As the Chum Bucket came into view, Plankton's antennas twitched in his sleep. "We're home," Karen murmured, her voice barely above the patter of the rain. She parked the car and took a moment to collect herself before gently waking him. "Plankton, sweetie, we're here." His eye fluttered open, and he looked around the car with a slightly dazed expression. The neon lights of the Chum Bucket cast a warm glow, and Karen watched as the reality of their situation settled into his gaze. "Home," he said, the word falling out of his mouth like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. He sat up slowly, his movements stiff and deliberate, as if every action was a calculation. Karen helped him out of the car, the rain now a steady shower, plinking against the metal of the Chum Bucket. "Come on," she said softly, guiding him inside. "Let's get you into bed." Plankton followed her obediently, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. The lab was a mess, but Karen ignored it, leading him to their tiny living quarters. The space was cluttered with gadgets and gizmos, but there was a warmth to it, a testament to their life together. Plankton's eye scanned the room, taking in every detail, his brain trying to process the overwhelming stimuli. Karen noticed the way he flinched at the brightness of the lights and quickly dimmed them, creating a soothing ambiance. "Better?" she asked, her voice soft. Plankton nodded, his movements more deliberate now. He seemed to be focusing intently on her, trying to piece together the world around him. Karen helped him into their small, cozy bed, the blankets familiar and comforting. As she tucked him in, she noticed his eye fixate on a book on the floor. "It's ok," she whispered, plucking it up and placing it on the nightstand. "We can clean up tomorrow." Plankton lay still, his gaze now on the ceiling, tracing the patterns of the tiles above. Karen sat beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Is there anything you need?" she asked, her voice a gentle ripple in the quiet. "Need... to... understand," he repeated, the words a comforting mantra in the silence. Karen nodded, stroking his antennae. "I'll be here to help you, Plankton." The doctor's words replayed in her head. Autism wasn't a weakness, but a different way of experiencing the world. A world now filled with sensory overload for Plankton. She made a mental note to dim the lab lights and reduce noise levels. "Karen," he said, the word a question. "What... happened?" The palilalia had shifted from a mere repetition to a quest for knowledge. Karen took a deep breath. "You had an accident, Plankton," she explained, her voice calm and steady. "But we're going to figure this out together." Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, his eye flitting from tile to tile as if the answers lay in their pattern. "Accident," he murmured, the word tumbling through his thoughts. Karen nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of the truth. "Yes, my love. You had an accident. But we're here now, and we're going to get through this." Plankton's eye searched hers, his voice a metronome of uncertainty. "Get... through... this." The words hung in the air, a question wrapped in a statement. "Through... this." Karen ached as she nodded, her voice a gentle caress. "Yes, Plankton. Together." Her hand reached out to cover his, her touch a silent promise. "We'll face each day as it comes." For a long moment, Plankton was silent, his gaze still trapped by the ceiling tiles. Then, his eye swiveled back to her, his voice a whisper of curiosity. "Together," he echoed, the word now a declaration. "We'll get through this together." Karen felt a tear slide down as she nodded, her smile a fragile thing. "Yes, Plankton, we will." She leaned in and kissed his cheek, his skin cool and clammy against her lips. His antennae twitched, and she knew he felt the warmth of her affection, even if he couldn't express it in the way she was used to. The next day dawned with a gentle glow, the sun peeking through the blinds of the Chum Bucket's living quarters. Karen woke up with a start, the events of the previous day crashing over her like a wave. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to hope it was all just a terrible dream. But the sight of Plankton's still form beside her, his breathing steady but different, brought reality back in a rush. They had a routine to maintain, a life to live despite the monumental shift in their world. Karen slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him, and began the day's tasks. She knew that Plankton would wake soon, his mind likely already racing. The lab was a chaos of wires and gadgets, but she had a plan. Starting with the lights, she adjusted each one to a gentle glow, reducing the visual assault that could overwhelm him. Then, she moved on to the sounds, taping foam pads to the doors and machines to muffle the cacophony. It was a small change, but it was a step to making the environment more comfortable for his now sensitive senses. Karen knew the kitchen would be the next battleground. Plankton's love for the Krabby Patty had always been a source of both frustration and motivation. But now, the thought of the complex flavors and textures could be a sensory nightmare for him. She decided to start with simple, plain foods, things she knew he enjoyed before his tastes had become so singular. As she sliced a cucumber into thin, uniform pieces, she heard his footsteps approaching. The tap-tap-tap of his feet on the metal floor was a sound she could set her clock to, yet now it seemed foreign, a reminder of the autistic world he now inhabited. "Good morning," Karen called out, forcing cheer into her voice. Plankton's eye swiveled towards her, his movements jerky as he navigated the now-familiar space. "Good... morning," he responded, each word a deliberate choice. Karen placed the cucumber slices on a plate and slid it towards him, watching as his gaze flitted from one to the next, studying them before making a selection. The sight was both heartbreaking and fascinating, a window into his new reality. As they sat together at their tiny kitchen table, Plankton took a small, tentative bite, his face scrunching up as he chewed. Karen held her breath, waiting for his reaction. After a long moment, he nodded. "Good," he said simply, his voice still flat. Karen swelled with pride and sadness. It was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless. They would find their way through this, one bite at a time.

disability and autism are not your aesthetics. just stop. 🤨

A girl in my class is Autistic We were playing volleyball in P.E one day and she wanted to serve. Everyone cheered for her even though the ball barely rose above her head My classmates' kindness GMH. Jan 4, 2015 at 11:00am by Anonymous

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i (Autistic author) "You know, Shel, just put yourself out there. You think to much! Just steal a patty from the krusty krab, and bring it back. No inventions, just believe. I'll wait out front." Karen says. Sheldon Plankton, whose ambition often outstripped his grasp, took a deep breath and nodded. It was a simple enough plan, he thought, and maybe, just maybe, it would be enough. For years he'd been trying to outsmart Mr. Krabs, crafting ingenious contraptions and elaborate schemes to swipe the Krabby Patty secret formula. Yet here he was, standing in the shadow of the gleaming neon sign of the Chum Bucket, his own restaurant, contemplating the unthinkable: a straight-up heist. He tiptoed to the Krabby Krab, eye darting back and forth for any signs of movement. Karen, ever the impatient one, was pacing back and forth outside the Chum Bucket. She had been waiting for what felt like an eternity. "What's taking him so long?" she murmured to herself, her frustration building. Meanwhile, Plankton took a final shaky breath and slid open the kitchen window, his heart racing. The scent of greasy fryers and salty ocean air filled his nostrils. He reached out, his tiny hand trembling, and snatched the Krabby Patty that lay unguarded on the counter. With the stolen patty in hand, Plankton's confidence grew. He had done it; the secret was within his grasp! He turned to leave, but his elation was cut short when a shadow fell over him. He looked up to find Mr. Krabs standing there, his eyes narrowed and his claw raised. "Plankton, I knew it was you!" he bellowed. Plankton froze. Mr. Krabs lunged at him, but Plankton was quick. He dashed under the cash register, the Krabby Patty clutched to his chest like a football player crossing the finish line. "You'll never get me!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the quiet restaurant. But Krabs was persistent, his claws snapping shut just millimeters from Plankton's antennae. With a cunning smile, Mr. Krabs stepped back eyeing the cash register. "Maybe not," he said reaching over the counter and hoisting the heavy metal contraption off its stand. Plankton's eye went wide with horror as he realized what Krabs intended to do. He tried to dodge, but the space was too cramped, and the cash register came down on him like a guillotine blade. The sound of metal on metal reverberated through the kitchen, and the Krabby Patty went flying out of his grasp. Mr. Krabs' victory roar filled the room as Plankton crumpled to the floor, stars dancing in his vision. The impact had been tremendous, and for a moment, he lay dazed and defeated. The cash register's heavy weight had not only knocked him out cold but also left a sizable dent in the floorboards. Outside, Karen's pacing grew more erratic. as "What's keeping him?" she groused. Just as she was about to storm inside, she hears the cash register, which hit Plankton's head. Peering in she saw Plankton lying on the floor. "Plankton?" she shrieked, her voice cracking with panic. Karen opens the door and goes to him. "Plankton! Oh no!" she screamed, voice shaking the very foundation of the Krabby Krab. She rushed over to him, shaking with fear. Plankton's eye closed, and his body was completely still. The Patty lay forgotten. Panic set in, and she began to pat his face. "Plankton, wake up!!" she yelled, echoing through the deserted kitchen. She knew that Plankton could be dramatic, but this was unlike him. He'd always bounced back from Mr. Krabs' traps before, albeit with a bruised ego. There was a pulse, faint but steady. "Thank Neptune," she whispered, her relief palpable. "Plankton, please," Karen begged, a mix of desperation and fear. She knew she had to do something, and fast. But what? Her medical expertise was limited to patching up her husband's bruises from past failed schemes, not dealing with a concussion from a cash register to the head. She then managed to scoop up her unconscious husband and sprinted to the Bikini Bottom Hospital. Once inside the hospital, she explained what happened with the cash register. "We'll do a brain scan." They said. Karen laid Plankton on the hospital bed. Finally a doctor approached with a solemn expression. "The brain scan results are in." Karen nodded for him to go on. "It seems your husband has suffered significant brain damage from impact," the doctor continued, fidgeting with a clipboard. "The good news is that he will wake up, but... your husband has experienced severe brain trauma. While he will regain consciousness, it appears that he may have developed permanent autism." "What does that mean?" she managed to whisper. The doctor explained that while Plankton would still be able to talk and/or communicate, his interactions and reactions to sensory would be significantly affected. "But he'll still be the same Plankton?" The doctor nods. "In many ways, yes. His personality, his memories, they should all be intact. But his ability to process, to understand and respond appropriately... those might be altered. It's a complex condition, Mrs. Plankton. He can go home whence he wakes up." Karen nodded numbly, mind racing with the implications. As she sat by Plankton's bedside the hospital lights flickered, and the constant beeping of the heart monitor was the only company she had. The quiet was broken her husband's eye fluttering open. "Karen?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from the trauma. Her heart leaped at the sound, and she took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'm here," she said, her voice cracking. "How do you feel?" Plankton's gaze darted around the room. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and fear. "You're at the hospital, sweetie," Karen replied, voice gentle and soothing. "You had hit your head on the cash register at the Krabby Krab." Karen said, her voice shaking slightly. "Mr. Krabs hit you." Plankton blinked rapidly, trying to process her words. "Cash... register?" he murmured, voice sounding distant and confused. Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The room was a cacophony of sounds: the beep of the monitor, the rustle of nurses' shoes, and the distant wail of a siren. Plankton's senses seemed to amplify, each noise stabbing at his brain like a thousand tiny needles. "What happened to me?" he asked, voice small and scared. Karen took a deep breath preparing herself to explain the gravity of the situation. "You hit your head," she began, "and now, the doctor says you have... acquired a neurodisability." Plankton stared at her, his eyes unfocused. "Neuro... what?" he repeated. Karen took a deep breath, her heart heavy. "It's like your brain is wired differently now. You might see things, hear things, feel things more intensely. And sometimes, you might not understand people, or process differently." "Does it... does it mean I'm broken?" he asked, voice barely a whisper. "No, Plankton," she said firmly, "You're not broken. You're just... different. And we'll figure this out together."

Can Brain Damage Cause Autism? Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While some studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is not a direct cause of autism. Ruben Kesherim November 1, 2023 Understanding Autism and Brain Damage To fully comprehend the potential link between autism and brain damage, it is essential to understand the individual components involved. This section will provide an overview of autism, brain damage, and explore the connection between the two. What is Autism? Autism, also known as Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), is a complex neurodevelopmental condition that affects social interaction, communication, and behavior. People with autism may exhibit a wide range of symptoms, including difficulties in social interactions, repetitive behaviors, and sensory sensitivities. Autism is believed to have a strong genetic component, although the exact cause remains largely unknown. What is Brain Damage? Brain damage refers to any injury or harm to the brain that disrupts its normal functioning. It can occur as a result of various factors, including accidents, infections, strokes, tumors, and traumatic brain injuries (TBI). Brain damage can lead to a wide range of cognitive, physical, and behavioral impairments, depending on the location and severity of the injury. The Link Between Autism and Brain Damage Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While some studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is not a direct cause of autism. It is important to note that autism is a complex condition with multiple contributing factors, and brain damage might be just one of them. Case studies and findings have provided insights into individuals who experienced brain damage and subsequently displayed autistic-like symptoms. However, such cases are relatively rare, and the exact mechanisms underlying the development of autism after brain damage remain unclear. Understanding the relationship between autism and brain damage requires further research and exploration. It is essential to consult healthcare professionals and specialists to obtain accurate and personalized information regarding specific cases. Can Brain Damage Cause Autism? The relationship between brain damage and autism has been a topic of interest and research. While autism is a developmental disorder characterized by challenges in social communication and interaction, brain damage refers to any injury or trauma to the brain. In this section, we will explore the research and findings that shed light on the potential link between brain damage and autism. Exploring the Research Research examining the connection between brain damage and autism has provided valuable insights into the complex nature of the disorder. While it is clear that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, some studies suggest that there may be a correlation between the two. One line of research suggests that neurological damage can lead to the development of autistic symptoms in some individuals. This damage can occur before, during, or after birth, and it can be caused by various factors such as genetic mutations, infections, or trauma. Case Studies and Findings Case studies have played a crucial role in understanding the relationship between brain damage and autism. These studies provide detailed accounts of individuals who have experienced brain damage and subsequently developed autistic symptoms. While case studies offer valuable insights, they are limited in generalizability and cannot determine causation. Additionally, research has identified specific brain regions that may be implicated in the development of autism after brain damage. For example, damage to the prefrontal cortex or the amygdala has been associated with the emergence of autistic traits. However, it is important to note that brain damage alone does not always result in autism, and the relationship between the two is complex and multifaceted. While the research provides some insights into the potential link between brain damage and autism, it is crucial to acknowledge that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, and not all individuals with autism have experienced brain damage. The relationship between the two is influenced by various factors such as the timing, severity, and location of the brain damage, as well as individual differences and genetic factors. As the understanding of autism and brain damage continues to evolve, further research is needed to unravel the intricacies of this complex relationship. It is important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in autism and brain injury to receive accurate assessments, diagnoses, and appropriate interventions for individuals affected by these conditions. Factors Influencing Autism after Brain Damage While the relationship between autism and brain damage is complex, several factors can influence the development of autism following brain damage. Understanding these factors can provide valuable insights into the connection between the two. Timing and Severity of Brain Damage The timing and severity of brain damage play a crucial role in whether autism may develop as a result. Research suggests that brain damage occurring early in development, particularly during the prenatal period or early infancy, may have a higher likelihood of leading to autism. The developing brain is highly vulnerable during these critical periods, and any disruptions or abnormalities can impact neurodevelopment and contribute to the development of autism. Furthermore, the severity of the brain damage can influence the likelihood of autism. More severe brain injuries, such as those caused by traumatic brain injury or certain genetic conditions, may increase the risk of developing autistic traits or behaviors. However, it is important to note that not all individuals with brain damage will develop autism, and the relationship between brain damage and autism is not fully understood. Location of Brain Damage The specific location of brain damage can also influence the development of autism. Different areas of the brain are responsible for various functions, and damage to certain regions may result in specific challenges or symptoms associated with autism. For example, damage to the frontal lobe or areas involved in social communication may increase the likelihood of social and communication difficulties characteristic of autism. Each case of brain damage is unique, and the location and extent of the damage can vary. Therefore, it is essential to consider the individual circumstances and consult with medical professionals to assess the potential impact on autism development. Individual differences and genetic factors can significantly impact the manifestation of autism following brain damage. Each person's genetic makeup and predisposition to autism can influence how they respond to brain damage and whether they develop autistic traits. It is important to recognize that brain damage alone does not cause autism in every case, and genetic factors can interact with brain damage to influence the outcome. Research suggests that individuals with certain underlying genetic vulnerabilities, such as specific gene mutations or genetic syndromes, may be more likely to develop autism after brain damage. Genetic testing and evaluation can provide valuable insights into these individual differences and help guide intervention strategies and support. Understanding the factors that influence autism after brain damage is a complex and ongoing area of research. It is important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in neurological conditions and developmental disorders to gain a comprehensive understanding of the unique circumstances and potential implications. Differentiating Autism from Other Conditions When exploring the relationship between brain damage and autism, it's important to understand how autism spectrum disorder (ASD) differs from acquired autism. While both conditions may share certain characteristics, there are distinct factors that set them apart. Autism Spectrum Disorder vs. Acquired Autism Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is a neurodevelopmental condition that typically emerges early in childhood. It is characterized by persistent challenges in social interaction, communication, and restricted or repetitive behaviors. ASD is considered a lifelong condition that affects individuals across various domains of functioning. Acquired autism, on the other hand, refers to the development of autistic symptoms following brain damage, often resulting from injury or disease. This form of autism is not present from birth but emerges after a specific incident or medical condition.

COMPUTER SENSORS i * "Karen!" Hanna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Karen in a warm embrace. "You made it!" Karen beamed. "Is the husband home?" Hanna asked, glancing around. "In our bedroom," Karen answers. "I don't think you've met!" Hanna followed Karen through the hallway. She'd heard of Karen's husband, Plankton, but had never formally met each other. Inside, Plankton sat on the edge of the bed. "Plankton, this is my friend Hanna," Karen announced, screen sparkling with excitement. Plankton looked up. He hadn't been expecting company, especially not someone so bubbly and vibrant. "Oh, Plankton," Hanna gushed, reaching out to him. She was a hugger, and she didn't hold back. She enveloped him. Plankton stiffened. It was... overwhelming. "It's so nice to finally meet you," Hanna said, her voice thick with sincerity. Hanna, ever the social butterfly, didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She plopped down on the bed beside him, her energy not even slightly dampened. "So, what do you guys have planned for the evening?" she asked, screen bright with excitement. "Well, we were just going to order in and watch a movie," Karen replied, shooting Plankton a knowing smile. She knew he liked his quiet evenings. "A movie night, huh?" Hanna clapped her hands together. "What's the film? I can stay and join!" Plankton wasn't one for sharing his personal space, especially with someone he just met. The bedroom was his sanctuary, a place of solitude where he could escape the world and be himself. Plankton managed a tight smile, his heart sinking. He wasn't in the mood for a romantic comedy, let alone one with Hanna's constant commentary and unbridled laughter. Karen quickly interjected. "Actually, Hanna, Plankton had his heart set on a sci-fi marathon tonight. You know, his usual Friday night routine." "Oh, I totally get it," she said, patting him. Plankton stiffened at her touch, his eye widening slightly. "Oooh, I know just the thing!" she exclaimed, jumping up and talking fast. "Karen, you won't believe this but I've got a DVD of 'Galactic Hearts' in my bag. It's got a bit of everything: romance, action, and a side of existential dread. Perfect for a Friday night in, right?" Plankton sighed inwardly. He knew he'd have to sit through it, if only to keep the peace. "Alright," he said, his voice tight. "Let's give it a go." With a resigned sigh, he trudged out to the kitchen to grab some popcorn and drinks. When he returned, Hanna had already claimed the spot beside him, leaving him no choice but to sit next to her, so he did, for Karen. The movie started, and Hanna was immediately engrossed, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. Plankton, on the other hand, felt like he was in an alien world of his own. Every time the romantic tension on screen built up, she would lean over and whisper something to Karen, who would giggle in response. The constant movement and noise were making his skin crawl. As the film went on, Hanna grew more and more absorbed in the love story unfolding before them. At one particularly dramatic scene, she reached over and grabbed Plankton's arm. "Oh, isn't this just the most romantic thing you've ever seen?" She gave him a squeeze not realizing the discomfort she was causing him. "Look at those stars," she whispered leaning closer. "It's just like they're reaching out to each other, isn't it?" Plankton shifted. He'd never been one for public displays of affection, and Hanna's affection was uncharted territory. He gently extracted his hand, placing it awkwardly on his lap. "I s'pose," he murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral. time she leaned in to whisper something to Karen, she brushed against him, sending a shiver down his spine. The movie's soundtrack swelled with a sappy love theme, and Hanna threw her arm around both their shoulders. Plankton stiffened. The room felt suddenly too warm, too small. He'd never been one for affection, especially not from someone he'd just met, and Hanna's touch was suffocating him. Her arm remained draped around his shoulders, her grip tightening every time the couple on-screen shared a tender moment. He tried to focus on the plot, but it was difficult with Hanna's sudden exclamations and loud sighs punctuating the silence. Karen seemed to be enjoying it, though, and he didn't want to spoil the evening. So, he sat, endured, and waited for the credits to roll. As the movie progressed, Hanna grew bolder with her displays of affection. She'd lean in close, her shoulder pressing into his, and whisper her predictions for the plot. He glanced at Karen, hoping for a reprieve, but she was caught up in the moment. Plankton sighed and turned back to the movie, trying to ignore the heat building in him. Hanna's hand found its way to Plankton's shoulder again. This time, she didn't let go. He cleared his throat, trying to subtly shift his body away from her touch, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight of her arm and the way she kept brushing against him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, begging for the solitude he craved. Hanna let out a contented sigh, her grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening involuntarily. He flinched, and she finally looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice full of concern. "It's nothing," Plankton said, his voice tight. Hanna looked at him. "Oh, I get it," she said, her hand moving from his shoulder to give his knee a comforting pat. "Sometimes romantic scenes can be too much, huh?" Plankton nodded stiffly. Then, Hanna leaned over and whispered, "You know Plankton you're not so bad for a guy who pretends not to like romance." She elbows him, her touch playful and teasing. Plankton's eye widened, his heart racing faster than the spaceship on the screen. He tried to laugh it off, his voice strained. He tried to keep his expression neutral. She leaned in closer, her arm now looped around his. "I think you're secretly a softy." Plankton's discomfort grew. He swallowed hard, his eye darting to Karen for help, but she was too lost in the film to notice his distress. He cleared his throat again, trying to be subtle, but they're oblivious. Karen looked over at her husband, her smile fading slightly as she noticed his rigid posture. She knew he wasn't a fan of the film, but she didn't realize Hanna's personality was making him so uncomfortable. Hanna jumped up from the couch. "Oh my gosh, you guys," she exclaimed a little too loud, her screen bright with excitement. "That was the best movie ever!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Karen couldn't help but laugh. "You really liked it?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood. "Liked it?" Hanna repeated, her voice incredulous. "I'm in love with it!!" Her exuberance was palpable, but Plankton remained silent. He felt a mix of relief that the movie was over and dread for whatever might come next. Hanna, noticing his lack of response, turned to him with a grin. "What did you think, Plankton?" Plankton felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "It's just not really my genre," he said, his voice a touch defensive. Hanna's smile didn't falter. "Oh, come on," she said, nudging him playfully. "Admit it, you were totally rooting for them in the end." "Oh, I was," Plankton said, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. "I was just hoping the asteroid might hit the spaceship first." Karen couldn't help but laugh, seeing the playful banter between her friend and her husband. "Ok ok," she said, standing up and stretching. "I think we've had enough romance for one night. How about we switch gears and play a board game?" Hanna bounced, her energy unflagging. "Perfect! What do you have?" Plankton started to feel dizzy. "I'll grab something," he said, his voice tight. He needed to get away, to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He retreated to the bedroom, going on his bed. ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

COMPUTER SENSORS iii ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * Slowly, Plankton's eye fluttered open, and he looked up at Karen. "You ok?" she asked softly, her hand still on his shoulder. Plankton took a deep breath and nodded, eye still clouded with the haze of overstimulation. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Just needed a... a moment." Karen leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I know," she said, her voice filled with love and understanding. "I'm sorry I didn't catch on sooner. Hanna's a good person. She just didn't understand." Hanna returned with an armful of board games, her screen searching the room for Plankton. She saw him on the bed. "Look what I found!" she said, her voice cheerful but cautious. Plankton looked up at her, his gaze still hazy. "Films," he says. "Yeah," Hanna said, her voice hopeful. "I figured it might be a good way to keep things low-key after the movie." Karen looked at her with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Hanna," she said. "That's really thoughtful of you." "How about 'Molecule Madness'?" she suggested, her voice still tentative. "It's a science-themed strategy show. I remember Plankton mentioning he likes science." Karen nodded, her eyes lighting up. "That sounds perfect," she said, her hand sliding from Plankton's shoulder to give him a gentle pat. Karen watched the exchange, her heart swelling with love for both of them. "You're doing great, Hanna," she said, her voice gentle. "Just remember, it's ok to ask questions. And Plankton, it's ok to tell if you need more space." Hanna made sure to keep the volume low and the lights dimmed, and she sat a respectful distance away, giving him the space he needed. The show played out, a gentle narrative that neither of them had to fully engage with, the perfect backdrop to their quiet evening. And Plankton's breathing evened out. As the show went on, Plankton began to relax further, loosening his grip on the couch cushions as he felt more restful. It's late by the time the show finished. Hanna looked over at Plankton, who had slumped into the couch, curled loosely around a cushion. His eye was closed, and his breathing was slow and even. She realized he had fallen asleep. Carefully, she stood up and turned off the TV, the sudden silence feeling vast after the muted chuckles of the sitcom. She grabbed a blanket from the arm chair and draped it over him, taking a moment to appreciate the peacefulness that had settled over the room. Later, Karen appeared in the doorway. "Is everything ok?" she says rounding the corner. Hanna glanced over at Plankton, still loosely gripping the couch cushion, breathing deep and even. "I think he's asleep," she whispered, smiling softly. Karen nodded, walking over to the couch. She gently stroked his antennae, her touch light as a feather. "It's been a long day for him," she murmured, her voice filled with concern and love. "It's been a long day for him," she says. "Why don't you crash on the other couch?" Hanna nods, the weight of the evening's events settling in. She looks over at Plankton who's snoring softly. The next morning, she wakes up early to find Karen making coffee in the kitchen. The peaceful scene contrasts with the previous evening's tension, and they exchange greetings, acknowledging the quiet morning. The smell of breakfast starts to fill the room. Plankton stirs slightly, his antennae twitching in his sleep. Hanna's hoping she hadn't disturbed him. But his breathing remains even, and he settles back in to a peaceful slumber. Karen brings over a tray with a steaming cup of tea for Plankton and sits beside him. "Hey," Karen whispers, stroking his arm gently. Plankton's eye opens slowly, focusing on her. He blinks a few times, looking around. "What time is it?" he murmurs. "Morning," Hanna says, her voice soft. "Do you want to sit up?" Karen quickly moves to grab a pillow and a blanket, placing them around his shoulders. "Thanks," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. They share a peaceful moment, with Plankton opening up about his preferences, such as enjoying puzzles and cooking, which offer him control over his sensory environment. This exchange signifies a step towards rebuilding their relationship on more empathetic and understanding terms. Hanna nods, taking a bite of her own pancake. "That makes sense," she murmurs. "I can see how that would be helpful." Hanna shares her passion for photography. Plankton shows interest and offers a thoughtful comparison to his own need for control, suggesting a shared understanding is growing between them. This conversation deepens their bond and shows a shift to mutual respect and appreciation. "Maybe you can show me some of your work sometime." "I'd love that," Hanna says, her heart warming at his genuine interest. "And maybe you can teach me more about molecular gastronomy?" Plankton's eye lights up. "Really?" "Yeah," Hanna says, grinning. "I've always wanted to learn more about it." Plankton perks up a little. "Well, if you're serious," he says, "I'd be happy to teach you some basics." Hanna nods eagerly. "I'd love that," she says. "It seems like a great way to combine science and cooking." "It is," Plankton agrees, a hint of excitement in his voice. "It's all about understanding the molecular structure of food and how it interacts with other substances. It can be quite fascinating." Karen smiles at the two of them, sipping her coffee. "I'm going to leave you two to your nerdy breakfast chat," she says, standing up and taking her plate to the sink. "I've got some work to catch up on." Hanna turns back to Plankton. "So, molecular gastronomy," she says, trying to keep her voice calm despite her excitement. "Where do we start?" Plankton proposes they start with a simple molecular gastronomy project, creating balsamic vinegar caviar. Hanna is fascinated by the precision and science involved. As they work together in the kitchen, their conversation naturally flows into discussions of their shared love for creativity and art. Through this collaborative activity, they continue to build their bond, finding common interests and growing more comfortable with each other's company. As they continue to cook, Plankton's enthusiasm for molecular gastronomy becomes infectious. Hanna is surprised at how much she enjoys the meticulousness of the process, and Plankton seems just as surprised at how quickly she catches on. They laugh together as they plate their creations, the balsamic vinegar caviar looking like a miniature galaxy on a white plate. The rest of the day unfolds in a similar fashion, with Plankton introducing Hanna to more of his hobbies and passions. They experiment with different cooking techniques, and Hanna even takes out her camera to capture some of the more visually stunning dishes they make. Plankton, usually so guarded about his personal space, allows her to hover closer offering suggestions on lighting and composition. As the evening approaches, Karen emerges from her office, looking surprised and impressed by the culinary masterpieces scattered across the counter. As the evening wears on, they move into the living room. The three of them sit. Karen pulls out a board game she thinks Plankton might enjoy. Plankton tenses slightly, but he nods, willing to give it a try. As the game progresses, Plankton's competitive streak emerges. He's strategic and thoughtful, his moves deliberate. Hanna can see the way his mind works, piecing together the puzzle of the game with the same precision he uses to navigate his sensory world. It's fascinating and a little intimidating, but she's determined to keep up.

Similarities and differences while asd and acquired autism may exhibit overlapping symptoms, there are notable differences between the two: aspect autism spectrum disorder (asd) acquired autism (after birth) cause no identifiable cause, likely a combination of genetic and environmental factors results from brain damage due to injury, illness, or medical condition onset typically apparent in early childhood evident after brain damage occurs developmental delays often accompanied by developmental delays in language, motor skills, and cognitive abilities developmental delays may or may not be present, depending on the individual severity ranges from mild to severe, with varying levels of support needed severity can vary based on the extent and location of brain damage treatment treatment focuses on providing support, therapies, and interventions tailored to individual needs treatment involves addressing the underlying brain damage and may include therapies to manage symptoms Soit is crucial to note that acquired autism resulting from brain damage is relatively rare compared to asd, which is believed to have a more complex etiology involving a combination of genetic and environmental factors. The presence of brain damage alone does not necessarily lead to the development of autism symptoms. If you suspect that brain damage may have contributed to the development of autism symptoms, it is essential to consult with medical professionals and specialists who can provide a comprehensive evaluation. They can help differentiate between asd and acquired autism, ensuring appropriate interventions and support are provided. Understanding the distinctions between these conditions is crucial for accurate diagnosis, effective treatment, and support for individuals with autism. By recognizing the unique characteristics of both asd and acquired autism, professionals and caregivers can provide appropriate interventions and care tailored to the specific needs of each individual.

https://www.wikihow.com/Respect-Autistic-People

December 15, 2013 A Special Needs Family isn't always blood; it's the people in life who celebrate your joys, understand your pain, who love to see you smile, and those who wipe away the tears

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii (Autistic author) Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening. "What accident?" he asks, his voice filled with dread. Plankton's smile is gone, replaced by a look of sadness. "Head," he says, his voice a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He touches his forehead gently, his antennas drooping. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with realization, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening entirely. "You got hurt?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What happened?" Plankton nods, his antennas still drooping. Sponge Bob's confusion grows, his anger replaced with worry. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice softening. "What happened to your head?" Plankton's antennas twitch, his smile a distant memory. "Fall," he says, his voice a monotone. Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat. "You fell?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "When? How?" Plankton nods, his eye flickering with something akin to pain. "Recently," he says, his voice flat. "Head bad." Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock, his mind racing with questions. "You fell and hurt your head?" he repeats, his voice filled with disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?" Plankton's gaze drops to his book, his hands fluttering over the pages. "No tell," he whispers, his voice filled with regret. "Shame." Sponge Bob's eyes fill with understanding, his anger evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice soft. "You didn't have to keep this to yourself." Plankton's smile is a pale imitation of his usual self, his antennas still. "No good," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with worry as he tries to comprehend his friend's cryptic words. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "You've just had an accident." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the book, his hands flapping over the pages. "No," he says, his voice a sad echo. "Head bad. Plankton bad." His body slumps, his usual vibrant energy dimmed by his distress. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with sadness as he tries to comfort his friend. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You're just hurt right?" Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt," he echoes, his voice a monotone. "Inside head." He taps his forehead, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for understanding. "Grey matter. Neural pathways." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his confusion growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What's going on with your brain?" Plankton's hand continues to tap his forehead, his voice detached. "Neurochemicals," he says, his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic connections. Autism." His smile is a mere memory, his eye glazed over with a faraway look. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his chest, his mind racing. "You're talking about your brain," he says, his voice tentative. "What's wrong with it?" Plankton's hand stops tapping, his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob. "Wiring," he says, his voice a monotone explanation. "Neuro- typical patterns disrupted affect the parts of brain when result in autism." His words are precise, his tone devoid of emotion. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with comprehension, his spongy heart sinking. "You're saying you have autism now?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical divergence," he confirms, his voice still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic variance, myelination discrepancies." He speaks in a monotone, his words sounding rehearsed and mechanical. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking for his friend. "What does that mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice shaking. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Plankton's gaze remains on the book, his hand tracing the spine. "Neuro-typical divergence," he repeats, his voice a flat recitation of medical terms. "Synaptic connections altered. Atypical neural patterns. Autism." He speaks as if recounting a scientific paper, his tone lacking any personal connection. "When hit head, damaged the myelination," he says, his hand continuing its mechanical movement against the book. "Myelination is the insulation around the axons that speeds up the nerve impulses made in a part of brain we call the cerebral cortex. My cerebral cortex now restricts, slows down impulses." Sponge Bob listens, his mind racing to keep up with Plankton's sudden shift in vocabulary. "But what does that mean?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "How'd the damage give you autism?" Plankton's hand stops its movement along the book. "Neurodivergence," he says, his voice a clinical recount. "My brain now operates outside typical parameters. Synaptic pruning, myelination patterns altered. Atypical neural networks formed." He speaks as if discussing a complex scientific experiment, his words a jumble of medical terminology that Sponge Bob barely understands. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with fear. Plankton's hand stills on the book, his gaze unfocused. "Functional diversity," he says, his voice a hollow echo of the medical lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence can lead to unique cognitive strengths, but also challenges." He taps the book, his antennas waving slightly. "My brain's wiring changed," he says, his voice a monotone. "Synaptic clefts widened, neurotransmitters less efficient. Restricted blood flow to temporal lobes." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of confusion and fear. "Does that mean you can't be... fixed?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton's antennas twitch, his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix," he echoes, his voice a sad recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes. Rewire, adapt. But cerebral cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent." Sponge Bob's eyes are wide, his mind reeling with the complexity of Plankton's words. "But, Plankton," he says, his voice quivering. "What about the Krabby Patties? Your plans?" Plankton's gaze snaps up, his hands still. "No plans," he says, his voice a sad echo. "No more steal." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his heart racing. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?" he asks, his voice filled with hope and disbelief. Plankton's antennas droop, his hands flapping slightly. "No more schemes," he whispers, his voice a monotone. "No more steal." His eye meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of his old mischief briefly shining through. "But," he adds, his smile mischievous, "still have competitive spirit." His hands begin to flap with excitement. Sponge Bob's heart soars with relief, a smile spreading across his face. "So, you're still the same Plankton," he says, his voice filled with hope. "Just... different. Ok, cool!" Plankton nods, his smile a ghostly reflection of his usual self. "Different," he repeats, his voice a sad echo. "But still have friend?" His antennas wave slightly, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for reassurance. Sponge Bob's heart swells with affection. "Of course, Plankton," he says, his voice firm. "We're still friends. Nothing can change that." He squeezes Plankton's shoulder, trying to convey his support.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY i (Autistic author) Karen's husband, Plankton, was arguing with Mr. Krabs as usual. They've had their fair share of disputes over the years, but this one seemed to be escalating fast. Without warning, Mr. Krabs swung the stove from his kitchen with all his might. It connected with a sickening thud against Plankton's head. Karen gasped as her husband crumpled to the ground. Plankton's eye had rolled back and closed, his body going still as Mr. Krabs left back. Karen knelt beside Plankton and gently tapped his cheek. "Wake up," she murmured, voice trembling. No response. She tried again, her voice a little louder. "Honey, can you hear me?" Plankton's eye remained closed, his antennae limp. Panic began to creep in. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more frightening than the last. What if his tiny brain had been damaged? What if he was in a coma? What if he never woke up? She cradled his minuscule form. The room grew silent as the gravity of the situation sank in, willing Plankton to stir. A tear trickled down her screen. Karen felt for a pulse. It was there, faint but steady. She let out a sigh of relief and picked his tiny body up, cradling him carefully. "I've got to get him to a doctor," she thought. She held Plankton's hand as they performed a brain scan. Karen sat by her husband's side as the machines around Plankton beeped and whirred. The sterile smell of the hospital filled, and the cold white walls seemed to press in around them. Plankton's lying still on the hospital bed. A thick bandage was wrapped around his head, and various tubes connected him to monitors that displayed a symphony of lines and numbers, none of which meant anything to her. She squeezed his hand gently, willing him to wake up. The doctor walked into the room, his lab coat fluttering slightly as he moved. He held a clipboard carefully in his tentacles, studying the information with a furrowed brow. "Mrs. Plankton," he began, his voice soft, "We've finished scans. The good news is that it's not life- threatening. However, we've noticed some sustained atypical brain activity." Karen's eyes widened. "What does that mean?" she asked, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening. The doctor sighed, his expression sympathetic. "Autism. His behavior may change. He might become more focused on his routines, have difficulty with social interactions, and exhibit sensory sensitivity. It's permanent, and no cure. We expect him to wake up soon. We'll ask him some questions to assess and then you can take him home." Karen felt her heart drop. She knew about autism, had read about it in magazines, but never thought it would affect her own family. The doctor left the room, and she was alone with her thoughts, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall as they remove the bandage. The hours ticked by in agonizing slowness as she sat there, praying for him to wake up. The only sounds were the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the occasional muffled conversations from the hallway. Finally, Plankton's eyelid fluttered. He groaned softly, and his hand twitched in hers. Karen leaned in, hope surging through her. "Plankton?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she smiled through her tears. "I'm here," she said, voice shaky. "You're in the hospital, but you're ok." Plankton's eye opened, squinting in the bright lights. He looked around the room, confusion etched on his tiny face. Slowly, his gaze landed on Karen. "What happened?" he croaked, his voice weak. "Mr. Krabs hit you with a stove," Karen explained, her voice a mix of relief and sadness. "They diagnosed you with acquired Autism." The doctor approached with a gentle nod. "Plankton, can you tell me your name?" he asked, ready to jot down notes. Plankton's eye searched the room, finally settling on Karen. "Sheldon Jay Plankton." Karen's grip on his hand tightened offering silent encouragement. The doctor nodded and proceeded with questions. "Tell me when you're born?" "July 31, 1999 10:16.08 am ET!" Karen felt a twinge of pride at her husband's precise answer. The doctor nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. "Tell me more about yourself.." "More about yourself." Plankton echoed. The doctor's offering a gentle smile. "Echolalia. It's a trait that's common in individuals with autism. It can help him process information. Well Plankton has no need for therapy, yet you may want to adjust your daily lives to accommodate. You're free to go!" The drive back to the Chum Bucket was silent, the weight of the diagnosis pressing down on Karen's shoulders. He was quiet too, his eye fixed on the passing scenery. He didn't seem to notice the difference in himself, but Karen knew their lives were changed. Once home, Karen helped Plankton into his favorite chair, surrounded by his inventions and gadgets. The room was a mess, but it was his sanctuary, and she didn't want to disturb it. He seemed more at ease, his eye flicking from one object to another with a sense of familiarity. Would Plankton be the same? Would he still laugh at her jokes, or get angry at the Krabby Patty secret formula? Plankton remained silent, his gaze still locked on his surroundings. Karen felt a pang of worry. Would his obsessive nature become more pronounced? "It's getting late, Plankton." Karen's voice was soft as she guided him to their bedroom. He followed without protest, his movements mechanical. She helped him into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin with a gentle tuck. Plankton lay there, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts a swirl of confusion. "Do you need anything?" she asked, her voice a gentle hum in the quiet room. "Stay, Karen stay." He says. Karen nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Of course, I'll stay," she assured him, trying to keep her voice steady. She took his hand again, feeling the warmth of his palm against hers. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew she'd be by his side. As Plankton's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep, Karen sat there, watching him. She noticed how his grip on her hand had loosened, but didn't dare move. The next day, Karen woke before Plankton did. She hovered over him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. How was she going to wake him up without startling him? She knew that sudden noises could be overwhelming for him now. Karen took a different approach. She stroked his arm with a feather-light touch. His eye brow flinched. Next, she tried speaking his name, starting with a whisper and gradually getting louder. "Plankton," she called, "It's time to wake up." His eyelid twitched, and he blinked his eye open. He looked around. "Karen?" he asked. She nodded with a smile. "Good morning, honey," she said softly. "How are you feeling?" Plankton sat up slowly, his antennae twitching as he took in his surroundings. "Different," he murmured, rubbing his temple. "We're home, Plankton. Remember what happened?" He nodded, his eye glazed over for a moment. "Krabs. The stove." "Yes, but you're ok now," Karen reassured, stroking his cheek with her finger. Plankton nodded again, his antennae twitching nervously. Karen noticed that his movements were more deliberate, his gaze more intense. She decided to keep things simple to avoid overwhelming him with too much information at once. "Let's get breakfast," she suggested. Plankton followed her into the kitchen, his steps slower than usual. The clanking of pans and the sizzle of oil had always been a familiar symphony in their home, but today it felt alien, like a disturbance to his newly heightened senses. Karen moved around the kitchen with precision, keeping the noises to a minimum. As she prepared their meal, Plankton stood by the counter, his gaze fixed. "Breakfast is ready," she said, sliding a plate of chum flapjacks in front of him. The smell usually brought him joy, but today it was overwhelming. Plankton took a step back. Karen's smile faltered, realizing she would have to adjust their meals. "Would you like something else?" she asked, her voice a soothing melody. Plankton nodded, his gaze not leaving the plate. "Different," he whispered. Karen knew she had to find foods that wouldn't overstimulate. She placed the flapjacks aside and found a jar of pureed peas and plain yogurt. She hoped the blandness would be more soothing. Plankton's antennae twitched as he came closer. He stared at the bowl intently, then took a tentative spoonful. The texture was soothing, and the color was calming. He ate slowly, each bite measured and deliberate. Karen watched him with love and concern. She wanted to ask if he liked it, but she knew better than to interrupt his focus. Once Plankton had finished, he looked up at her with a hint of a smile. "Good," he said. It was the closest thing to praise she had heard from him since the incident. Karen cleared the table, her mind racing with questions about what the future held. How would Plankton's new autism affect their daily lives? "Now what would you like to do, Plankton?" She asks. He looks at her. "Read." The old spark seems to flicker back to life, albeit with a different intensity. Karen nods, leading him back to his lab. The room is a mess of wires and gadgets, but Plankton moves through it with purpose. He selects a book from the shelf, a manual on quantum physics that had been collecting dust. His gaze flits over the pages, absorbing the information with fervor. Karen watches him from a distance. This was her Plankton, but also new. His obsession with the Krabby Patty formula had always been intense, but now his focus was lasered in on the book, his mind racing through equations and theories. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of pages turning. Plankton didn't look up from his book, lost in a world of science and theories. Karen knew she had to let him be, to find his new normal.

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** ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵗⁱᶜ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵐ ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᴬᴵ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐʸ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * One fateful afternoon, Plankton meandered along the beach, lost in thought, an unexpected event unfolded. A tennis match, played by tourists near by, sent stray balls hurtling towards him. A tennis ball struck him squarely on the head. As he stumbled to his feet, dizzy and disoriented, the world around him had changed. Plankton found himself struggling with simple tasks that once came so naturally. His job at the local bait shop grew increasingly difficult as he often forgot names. His social interactions grew strained, as he found it hard to read the subtle cues of conversation and often took things too literally. The doctor's diagnosis was clear: the impact had left him with a mild form of autism for life. Karen, ever the rock in their marriage, took the news with a mix of shock and determination. She knew this would be a journey of adaptation for both of them. She dedicated herself to helping Plankton navigate the new landscape of his reality. His mind, now more analytical and detail-oriented, sought patterns and understanding in the overwhelming information. It was as if he had developed an insatiable hunger for knowledge, and this soon dominated their dinner conversations. "Karen," he began, "I've been thinking about the diagnosis." They were at the kitchen table. She looked up from her plate. "We can just keep this between us, Sheldon." "Karen," Plankton insisted, "I think we need to consider what this means for the Chum Bucket." "The Chum Bucket will be fine. You're still you. Just with a different way of seeing the world. You're seeing patterns no one else does. Let's focus on how we can harness that instead of worrying about what you lost." The idea took root in Plankton's mind, growing into a newfound sense of purpose. If he couldn't outsmart Krabs in their usual cat-and-mouse game, perhaps he could out-pattern him. His mind raced with the possibilities, the wheels of his imagination spinning faster than ever before. "If I could see patterns where he doesn't, we could finally steal the Krabby Patty secret!" He began to fidget in his chair, his legs bouncing up and down, a silent metronome to his racing thought. "But what if Krabs finds out? You know how he is, Karen. If he gets even the slightest whiff of weakness, he'll be on us." Karen nodded solemnly. "But you're not weak, Plankton. You're just... different. And if he does we'll deal with it together like everything else." Her words resonated with him and a newfound resolve shone in his eye. "You're right," he murmured. "We'll turn this into an advantage." Plankton retreated to his lab, the cobwebs of doubt slowly giving way to a tangible plan. He pored over blueprints and formulae, his mind racing with thoughts with his newfound focus, a stark contrast to the days when he had flitted from one idea to the next without clear direction. He dissected every encounter with Krabs, searching for patterns in his rival's behavior. His mind was a whirlwind of calculations, predicting Krabs' every move, anticipating his countermoves, and preparing for the ultimate heist. His once cluttered lab now had a method to its madness. The floor was clear of scattered inventions, and his desk was organized into neat piles of notes. His thoughts were no longer scattered; they were sharp. Karen supported him, bringing him snacks and encouraging him to take breaks, for she knew that his mind was fully consumed by his mission. The day finally came when Plankton announced that he was ready to put his new skills to the test. "Karen," he said with a steely glint in his eye, "I'm going to the Krusty Krab." "But Plankton, You haven't been since before..." "It's time. I've figured out a pattern in Krabs' security. There's a blindspot during the lunch rush." Plankton set out. The restaurant bustled with the usual sea of patrons, a cacophony of noise that Plankton found both overwhelming and fascinating. He took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand, and slipped inside. Making his way to the back, he spotted the safe in Krabs' office. His new analytical mind dissected the room with ease, noting the routine of the employees, the subtle cues in their movements that pointed to the flow of customers, and the exact moment when the chaos of the lunch rush would hit its peak. Timing was everything, and Plankton knew the moment had arrived. He slipped into the office. The combination lock stared back at him, a silent sentinel to the secret he sought. His mind raced through the patterns he had observed in Krabs' behavior, the way he tapped his claw against the desk when nervous, the time he took to drink his tea, the exact moment when his gaze would flick to the safe when the topic of the Krabby Patty formula came up. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye tracing the dial as he dialed in the sequence. The clicks of the tumblers falling into place were the sweetest symphony he had ever heard. With trembling hands, he pulled the heavy door open, revealing the treasure trove with in. His eye fell upon the secret bottle, its contents a murky mystery that could change his life forever. His heart thudded in his chest, a drum roll to the crescendo of his plan. "Plankton!" boomed a voice. He whirled around to find Mr. Krabs, claws balled into fists. The room spun, and the noises of the restaurant outside grew distant. "What do you think you're doing?" Krabs demanded, his eyes bulging with rage. Plankton's brain scrambled for a lie, but his newfound honesty and directness took over. "I've come for the Krabby Patty secret." Mr. Krabs sneered, "You're insane, Plankton. You'll never understand the brilliance of me creation." "But I see patterns now, where I used to see only chaos.." Plankton trails off before he could reveal more. Mr. Krabs took a step closer. "What are you talking about? Patterns? I don't know what you're blabbering on about, but you're not leaving here with that!" He lunged, but Plankton was ready. Using his heightened senses and the patterns he had studied, Plankton sidestepped the attack with surprising grace. The Krabby Patty secret was in his grasp, but he knew to take it back to the Chum Bucket. He sprinted out of the office. The din of the restaurant faded into the background as he weaved through the kitchen, dodging flying spatulas and the frenetic dance of the cooks. The heat from the grills washed over him but he didn't flinch. His eye remained locked on the swinging doors to the alley outside. Karen was waiting for him. Without a word, she opened the hidden hatch that led back to the Chum Bucket. Plankton squeezed through, the warmth of the stolen secret a comforting weight. They descended into the dimly lit lab. Karen looked at him with a mix of amazement and pride. "You did it," she whispered. Plankton's chest heaved with the exertion of his escape. "Yes," he panted, "but Krabs knows I have it." Plankton carefully removed the paper from the bottle, his eye scanning the list. The words and numbers swam but he focused, his mind slicing through the jumble. The list was not in English, but a cryptic code that only Krabs could decipher. The symbols and letters danced in a maddening ballet, but he could feel the tide of understanding beginning to turn. His mind raced, piecing together the puzzle with a speed and precision that astonished even him. He turned to Karen. "It's a code based on the Fibonacci sequence!" "Fibonacci?" Plankton nodded fervently, his antennae waving with excitement. "It's a numerical sequence, Karen. One, one, two, three, five, eight... It appears in nature, in the spiral of a shell, the arrangement of leaves on a stem, the branching of trees. It's a pattern that's been used in everything from art to mathematics!" Karen's trying to make sense of the seemingly random strings of digits and letters. "But how? Nevermind, I hear Krabs breaking in!" Plankton began to recite the ingredients in their proper order, translating the code as he went. "Kelp powder, four... Tartar sauce, one... Mustard seeds, three... Onion powder, five!" The lab door crashed open and Mr. Krabs' furious red face filled the doorway. "Give it back, you tiny menace!" But Plankton was already several steps ahead. With lightning-quick reflexes, he transferred the information from the paper to his photographic memory, his mind now a fortress that contained the Krabby Patty's sacred recipe. Krabs snatched the paper with a snarl, his claw closing around it like a vice. He glared at Plankton, eyes alight with fury. "You think you're so clever don't you?" But Plankton remained silent. The code was in his mind now and no one could take that from him. He had outsmarted Krabs with his own patterns, using the very neurodivergence that had made him feel weak to gain the upper hand. Mr. Krabs looked from the paper to Plankton and back again with suspicion, his claw tightening around the seemingly worthless paper. "You think you've won?" he spat. "You'll never understand the genius behind me Krabby Patties!" With that, Mr. Krabs stormed out of the Chum Bucket with his usual sneer, the worthless paper clutched in his claw. Plankton watched him go, his heart racing. He had done it. He had bested Krabs. As the echo of the slammed door faded away, he turned to Karen, his eye alight with victory. "We've got it," he whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. "The Krabby Patty secret is ours."

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