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 💙

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!

😷 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. 😷

😷 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. 😷

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

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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"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.

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.

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

🌈🧠🤷🏼‍♀️

“Neurodivergent Umbrella”* Beneath the umbrella, it lists: ADHD DID & OSDD ASPD BPD NPD Dyslexia CPTSD Dyspraxia Sensory Processing Dyscalculia PTSD Dysgraphia Bipolar Autism Epilepsy OCD ABI Tic Disorders Schizophrenia Misophonia HPD Down Syndrome Synesthesia * non-exhaustive list

🔪☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ sprinkling some fairy dust on the feed for my mentally ill & disabled girlies who may be struggling or having a hard time rn ༺♡༻ /)__/) Ƹ̵̡\( ˶• ༝ •˶) /Ʒ o ( ⊃⊃) *⛥*ﾟ・。*.ੈ ♡₊˚•. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ # 🔮

ℑ𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. 💀

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

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.

"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 disabilities 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.

💉 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

~ Considering your sensory needs- pack a bag with sensory aids such as headphones, earplugs, coloured glasses, stim tools, ice, comfort items and so on to support your comfort whilst at your appointment. Considering your communication needs- perhaps take a trusted friend or family to support with verbal communication, a hospital passport that you can share with staff or notes including scripted comments or responses that you can refer to during the appointment as verbal speech. Wear suitable clothing or dress that can be easily taken on and off. To minimise uncertainty, research what is involved in the procedure before attending so that you have a good idea what to expect. Write out a list of questions to avoid relying on memory during a potentially stressful experience. Plan your travel route in advance and leave plenty of time to get to your appointment to minimise anxiety and allow time to adjust to the environment upon arrival. Engage in calming, grounding techniques prior to the appointment start time. During: whilst at the appointment it may be helpful to ~ Ask for the nurse practitioner to talk you through the procedure in full before it commences, preferably with use of images or demonstrations with relevant equipment. Be open about which aspects of the experience you might struggle with as an Autistic person and request particular adjustments. Engage in grounding techniques such as mindful breathing. Hold on to a stim object that is comforting or acts as a stress reliever. Listen to music to support self-regulation. Share your concerns or worries with the nurse practitioner to invite reassurance or helpful advice. Remember your reason for attending and why it is important for you. Aftercare: following the procedure, it is a good idea to plan in some time for self-care and self-regulation, some ideas might include ~ Get yourself into a sensory safe space where things feel predictable and calm (for e.g. a quiet room with dim lighting, weighted blanket etc). Arrange to debrief/chat to a friend or another supportive person about your experience after leaving your appointment. Arrange to meet with a trusted person following the procedure to support you with getting back home or perhaps to do something you might enjoy together. Engage in your dedicated interest. Acknowledge your achievement in attending and getting through the appointment. Journal about your experience to help with emotional processing. Engage in your favourite stim to release any tension that may remain in your body. Allow yourself to physically rest or sleep once back at home.

Autistic and Being Startled Easily... @neurodivergent_lou Autistic people may struggle with being startled easily, whether that be by a sudden phone call or someone walking into a room. This is something that autistic may experience more intensely than non-autistic people for a variety of different reasons. Autistic people may be 'startled' easily due to hyper-sensitivity to sensory input. For example, for autistic people noise may feel increasingly amplified. The sound of someone coming into a room can be incredibly startling and sudden. Sensory overwhelm isn't necessarily just about the noise itself but can also be related to the layers of sound or unpredictability of it, As autistic people, we may struggle with feeling on edge a lot of the time and being in 'fight or flight mode'. For example, the world can generally feel unpredictable and we may have repeated past experiences of being misunderstood (e.g. due to autistic communication differences). This feeling of being on edge can contribute to being easily startled. It also feels related to how autistic people experience focus and attention. Autistic people may have a tendency toward hyper-focus and getting almost lost into a subject of interest. We may also end up deep in thought or dissociate. This can mean that someone coming into the room can feel particularly disruptive. The shift in attention can be difficult too. One minute your attention is absorbed in a certain thing and then suddenly a person walks in, makes you jump and shifts your attention completely. The theory of monotropism suggests that autistic minds tend to have their focus pulled more intensely towards a smaller number of interests at any given time, leaving less processing resources for other things. Another part of this is waiting to potentially be startled and the stress of waiting for this. For example, if we are waiting for a phone call, it can be stressful anticipating a sudden loud noise. It can make us feel on edge and unable to do anything else.

BENEFITS TO EMBRACING NEURODIVERSITY IN Schools @MeS. SPEECHIEPO CREATES INCLUSIVE LEARNING ENVIRONMENTS Neurodiversity affirming teaching strategies allow ALL students, regardless of neurotype to be accepted, valued, and supported. IMPROVES ACADEMIC AND LEARNING OUTCOMES Neurodivergent students often excel academically when their individual learning styles are accommodated and their strengths are nurtured. ENHANCES SOCIAL INTERACTIONS Neurodiverse i.e. BOTH Neurotypical and Neurodivergent) students have opportunities to interact with peers of varying neurotypes, fostering social skills and relationships, empathy, understanding, and acceptance. REDUCES BULLYING AND STIGMA Directly teaching about differences and embracing neurodiversity reduces bullying and stigma, creating a safer and more welcoming school environment for ALL students. PROMOTES A VARIETY OF STRENGTHS AND INTERESTS Schools can identify, promote, and celebrate the talents, strengths, and interests of ALL students, whether in academics, arts, or other areas to make everyone feel valued, respected, and accepted. OMeS SPEECHIEPO

Everyone is NOT a little bit autistic. The Autistic Teacher Using the phrase "everyone is a little bit autistic" can be problematic for several reasons... Minimisation of the Challenges Autism is a complex neurotype that affects individuals in various ways. By saying "everyone is a little bit autistic," it trivialises the challenges and differences faced by those who are autistic. Stereotyping and Misunderstanding Autism is not just about being introverted, having social quirks, or being detail-oriented. It encompasses a wide range of challenges in communication, differences in behaviour, and sensory processing that are unique to each autistic individual. Lack of Understanding and Awareness Such statements can perpetuate misconceptions about autism and hinder efforts to create a more inclusive and supportive environment for autistic individuals. Invalidation of Experiences Autistic people have distinct experiences and struggles that should not be dismissed or equated to common personality traits found in everyone. Promoting Stigma Comparing personality traits to a complex neurotype can reinforce stereotypes and stigma associated with autism. Instead of using 'everyone is a little bit autistic', it's important to respect the diversity and individuality of autistic people and educate ourselves and others by listening to actually autistic voices. The Autistic Teacher

Autistic Masking The Autistic Teacher What is Autistic Masking? Masking is when we suppress or hide our feelings, needs, behaviours or another part of ourselves in order to fit in with those around us. Sometimes referred to as camouflaging. Everyone masks to a certain extent... but autistic people often have different social norms and so there is increased pressure and judgement from those around. An autistic person can mask so much that it becomes harmful to ourselves. We can spend our lives masking and hiding our real selves. Suppressing Some behaviours that we find soothing or help us to regulate can be considered a bit 'weird' and so many Autistic people suppress these 'stims' Making eye contact can be uncomfortable, even painful for some autistic people, but we might force ourselves to be uncomfortable to try desperately hard to appear to fit in, even to our detriment. Suppressing Most common for me is hiding my sensory discomfort. This could be staying somewhere that is too bright, too loud, too hot... because I'm trying really hard to cope and be like everyone else. But unfortunately it can take it's toll and can result in a meltdown, shutdown or burnout. Sometimes if you are feeling really shy you can force yourself to be out there and talking to people. But it's draining. Exhausting. Reflecting I have become very good at watching people and reflecting their behaviour. This too is masking. I might learn scripts... planning how a conversation might go and thinking about the correct responses. I watch and listen to what kind of behaviour or language is acceptable so that I can fit in. This might include suppressing the desire to infodump and tell them all about my current hyper focus or special interest. The Effects Autistic people who mask more show more signs of anxiety and depression. It's exhausting, draining...and people mask for so many years that they begin to lose their identity. Masking can lead to Autistic burnout and a mental health crisis Understanding and Acceptance Understanding and acceptance of neurodivergent behaviours and differences by neurotypical individuals is key. This would lessen the need to mask! As neurodivergent people, we can also be aware of masking and how it effects us. Knowing this and being kind to yourself, allowing some time to be your authentic self and recover is absolutely vital in protecting your own mental health.

NEW TO AUTISM OR POSSIBLE AUTISM DIAGNOSIS? OMeS SPEECHIE POS First Unlearn (almost) EVERYTHING you know about Autism and start FRESH! Autism is MORE than stereotypes! Autistic people can: Speak, be friendly, make eye contact, play creatively, be intelligent, enjoy hugs, go to college, tolerate different sensory sensations, respond to their name, get married, have friends, have jobs and careers, and more! Autism is a Pattern of Differences: Language: : Loe Take and Talking, may struggle saying wants/needs • Delay or decreased use of gestures, pointing, body language • Echolalia & scripting after age 2.5 • Uses words or phrases repeatedly/often • High pitch, melodic, sing-song voice • Uses another's hand/body as a tool to get help/gain access Interests & Routines: • Prefers sameness and routine, may struggle with changes and become anxious and dysregulated • Has strong, focused interests, may have early interest in letters/ numbers/ reading • Focuses on details and likes things to be "just right" (labeled OCD) • Repeats play activities or scenes (dumping/crashing, creative play) : Creies wakon router/patterns Social: • Eye contact: intense, avoidant, or inconsistent • Absent or inconsistent response to name • May be "overly" friendly/ lack stranger danger • May prefer to play alone or parallel play longer than others • May be better at responding to others than initiating social contact • Differences in joint attention • May need to direct/control play Sensory Processing: • Selective (picky) eating habits • Covers ears to loud sounds/ puts sounds up to ears, listens to sounds/songs on repeat • Watches items up close to study spinning or how they work, may look at eye level or side of eyes • Enjoys tight hugs, avoids hugs • Seeks movement: jumping, pacing, rocking back and forth, crashing • Sensitivity to grooming, washing, These are common examples & a non exhaustive list Autistic people can have many strengths, which often include: Hyperlexia: Reading letters & words at an early age Exceling in music, art, science, math, computer Hyper focusing on areas of interests Excellent memory skills Having an extensive knowledge in certain topics Knowing numbers, shapes, & colors early Motivated to teach self difficult skills. Remember that your feelings are valid. However you feel Keep in mind that some feelings should not be shared publicly where your child may see it one day. AND know that it's common for feelings to change over time, especially when you learn more about Autism and see your child progress with support. Consider Neurodiversity affirming support: Neuro-affirming support prioritizes the child's strengths and individuality, promotes self-advocacy, and ultimately allows and encourages children to be their authentic self. Be ready to advocate for your child while also teaching your child to advocate for themselves. Unfortunately, most people have a lot to learn when it comes to accepting Autistic and disabled people. While this should not fall solely on the shoulders of disabled people and/or their parents, we need to recognize that this does happen, and parents need to be ready. Accept that you may make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. I have made MANY. Keep in mind that when you know better, you can do better. Growth is the goal!

Anonymous asked: autism culture is feeling like a nuisance when you’re overstimulated because you don’t want to be mean to anyone or have a meltdown but you can’t keep masking and everything is too much

Anonymous asked: Undiagnosed autism culture is your family can't comprehend that you are also autistic because you have a family member that was diagnosed as a child and has different support needs than you.

Anonymous asked: autism culture is trying to isolate yourself because you're getting overstimulated but people keep coming in to talk to you and then get mad when you lash out. like omg im TRYING to "calm down" just give me a minute

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.

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).

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

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.

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.

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.

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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💟 WHAT MIGHT BE EASIER FOR YOU MIGHT NOT BE SO EASY FOR ME 💟

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/ 💙

nickgram.com/special-needs

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/

💙 https://www.legalzoom.com/articles/what-is-medical-power-of-attorney 💙

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#ᵂᵉᵈⁿᵉˢᵈᵃʸ #ᵀʰᵉᴬᵈᵈᵃᵐˢᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ ᵂᵉᵈⁿᵉˢᵈᵃʸ'ˢ ᶜʰᶦˡᵈ ᴵˢ ᶠᵘˡˡ ᵒᶠ ᵂᵒᵉ ʷᵃⁿᵈⁱⁿʰᵃ ᵃᵈᵈᵃᵐˢ

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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⁾

During the appointment, a small sample of cells are taken from your cervix and checked for certain types of human papillomavirus (HPV) that can cause changes to the cells. The procedure might also interact unhelpfully with common Autistic qualities such as differences in how we understand what our body is feeling (interoception), our experience of pain (hypo/ hyper sensitivity) and difficulties in noticing and identifying how we feel (alexithymia). Co-occurring conditions commonly experienced in the Autistic community such as gastro-intestinal issues and joint hypermobility disorders can also have an impact on an Autistic patient’s experience of a screening procedure. Nurse practitioners and doctors may have a limited understanding of the unique and significant ways in which autism and its associated issues impact a patient’s experience of a given medical procedure. This means that the particular supports that might help to alleviate discomfort could be lacking. We might encounter resistance to our own attempts to self-regulate and take care of our sensory and emotional needs during the appointment. We may even experience medical gas lighting or invalidation when attempting to express our experience or request much needed accommodations. For those of us with a history of these types of experiences, just being in a medical environment could feel threatening and unsafe. The communication of pain experienced has often been minimised or overlooked which has resulted in a heightened feeling of dread in advance of appointments and a lack of confidence in the support offered during. We also think that it is deeply wrong that people in our community continue to pay the price for unmet access needs in medical settings. This is an urgent problem that demands institutional change on a broad scale and a shift in mind set amongst medical staff on the ground.

"You can't be Autistic... you're a girl! " Girls can be Autistic too! It's my neurotype... anyone can have an autistic brain. "You can't be Autistic... you can give eye contact!" Some autistic people have absolutely no problem with eye contact. Some of us make eye contact but are not always comfortable with it. Some of us find eye contact painful. Our level of eye contact does not determine our neurotype! "You can't be Autistic... you have empathy." Autistic people can be highly empathetic, though we may express it differently. For some of us, it's our intense empathy that drives us to help others. "You can't be Autistic.. you have friends!" Many autistic people have friends and some of us have lots of friends and enjoy socialising! But for some, relationships might look different. Many autistic individuals value friendships and relationships but may struggle with neurotypical social cues. "You can't be Autistic... because you're nothing like my autistic nephew." All autistic people are different, with different strengths and struggles. It doesn't make us less or more autistic... or less or more than anyone else... just uniquely autistic. "You can't be Autistic... you're terrible at maths! We're not all mathematical geniuses. Some autistic people are very creative or artistic. Some are very good writers or speakers. Some might have learning disabilities. Some autistic people have an amazing ability to make others smile. We are all different but all just as valuable.

Lots of laughter Need for acceptance Passionate Strong emotions Loyal Full of love active & playful Kind hearted Happy hands Big smiles Because - Autism is not always *that* different

AUTIE AND DOCTOR GOOD (Author has Sensory Processing Disorder) Autie’s determination grew with each step she took away from that cold, unfeeling place. This was not the end of her journey. Days later, Autie found herself in the waiting room of Dr. Goodie, a recommendation from a friend who understood her plight. The walls here were painted a warm, soothing color, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. The music was soft, a melody that seemed tailored to her soul. The furniture was plush, and the lighting gentle, not the harsh fluorescent glare she'd come to expect. When Dr. Goodie entered, her eyes met Autie's, a smile in them that seemed genuine. She didn't immediately dive into her charts, but sat down, her posture open and attentive. "Tell me, Autie, what brings you in today?" Her voice was calm, a stark contrast to the storm Autie had weathered before. Autie took a deep breath, her words tumbling out like a waterfall, explaining her symptoms, her fears, and the pain of being doubted. Dr. Goodie nodded, her gaze never leaving Autie's, her expression one of understanding. She asked questions, real questions, that didn't make Autie feel like she was being interrogated. Her touch was gentle, her explanations thorough. She acknowledged Autie's reality, validating her experiences without dismissal. The exam room was a sanctuary, designed with sensory needs in mind. The lights were dimmer, the sounds softer, and the air held a faint scent of calming essential oils. Dr. Goodie offered Autie noise-canceling headphones, and a soft, weighted blanket to hold during the exam. She moved slowly, giving Autie time to adjust to each new sensation. Her voice remained calm and soothing, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of Autie's overwhelmed nervous system. "We'll go at your pace," Dr. Goodie assured her. "I have different tools and techniques that I can use to make this easier for you." Autie felt a spark of hope, a tiny flame flickering in the darkness. For the first time in a long time, someone was offering her choices, treating her not as a problem to be solved, but as a person to be heard. Before each test, Dr. Goodie explained what she was about to do, asking for Autie's consent. "Is this okay with you?" she would say, holding up a thermometer or a blood pressure cuff. It was a simple question, but it meant the world to Autie. Her nods were met with a warm smile and a gentle touch that didn't make her recoil. The doctor's fingers were light as they performed each procedure, and she talked Autie through each step, her voice a steady beacon in the chaos of Autie's senses. For the first time in this medical odyssey, Autie felt seen and heard. Dr. Goodie didn't dismiss her pain, didn't treat her like a puzzle to solve or a problem to fix. Instead, she offered empathy, a rare gift in a world that so often misunderstood her. With each question, each caring gesture, Autie felt a piece of herself being put back together, like a shattered vase being carefully glued. "Would you like the lights a bit dimmer?" Dr. Goodie asked, and Autie nodded gratefully. The doctor obliged, and the room transformed into a soothing cave of calm. The doctor then presented her with a tray of different textured materials to choose from. "Which one feels most comfortable for you?" Autie selected a soft, velvety material, and Dr. Goodie placed it over the chair's harsh fabric, giving her a small oasis of comfort. Next, she offered a variety of fidget toys, each designed to cater to a different need. "Which of these helps you focus?" Autie's eyes lit up as she chose a smooth stone, the weight of it grounding her in a way she hadn't felt since she first walked into the cold, uncaring environment of Dr. Baddy's office. She clutched it tightly as Dr. Goodie continued her exam, her thumb absently tracing patterns that soothed her racing mind. The doctor spoke softly, explaining that she understood how overwhelming the world could be for someone with heightened senses. "We're going to work together," she assured Autie, "to find what works best for you." It was a revelation, like stepping out of a nightmare and into a dream. Here was someone who didn't just tolerate her differences but celebrated them, who saw her as more than just a collection of symptoms. Dr. Goodie took out a small pad of paper and a pen, asking Autie to write down any particular textures or sensations that were particularly uncomfortable for her. Autie's hand shook slightly as she began to scribble, the relief making her almost lightheaded. She listed the cold metallic feeling of instruments, the rough cotton of the typical examination table, the sharpness of needles, and the unyielding grip of Dr. Baddy's restraints. The doctor nodded thoughtfully as she read, her eyes never leaving Autie's. "I see," she said, her voice calm and measured. "We'll make sure to avoid those triggers as much as possible. I have a few alternatives we can try." Her voice was like a balm, soothing Autie's frazzled nerves. "For instance, we can use a different material for the blood pressure cuff, and I can make sure to warm up any instruments before I use them on you." She paused, waiting for Autie to indicate her agreement. When she nodded, Dr. Goodie smiled gently. "Good. And I have some numbing cream that can help." The exam continued, but this time it was a dance of understanding. Each move was made with care, each touch a promise that Autie's needs were not just acknowledged, but respected. Dr. Goodie was patient, explaining each step before taking it, and Autie felt a burden lifting. She was not a problem to be solved, but a person to be cared for. The doctor's gentle touch was a stark contrast to the invasive poking of before, and Autie found herself relaxing under the weighted blanket, the soft light, and the steady rhythm of her voice.

COMMON ACCOMMODATIONS FOR KIDS WITH AUTISM ELIGIBILITY: OMeS. SPEECHIEPO Sensory/movement breaks Advanced notice of changes in routine Visual Schedules Allow for wait time Provide written instructions Chunking of work Clear, concise directions Access to calming area Give choices when possible Directly teach self advocacy skills

AUTIE AND DOCTOR BAD (Author has Sensory Processing Disorder) The doctor's office was a minefield of sensory assaults. Every creak of the floorboard, every fluorescent flicker, every rustle of paper echoed like thunder in the hypersensitivity of Autie. The sterile smell of alcohol and antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and stinging. The walls, a shade of blue that was supposed to be calming, instead made the room feel cold and unfriendly. Autie sat, knees pressed tightly together, hands fidgeting in her lap. Her eyes darted around, trying to take in everything and nothing at once. The chair's material was a torment against her skin. She waited for Dr. Baddy, the general practitioner. When he finally entered, his eyes didn't meet hers. He skimmed through her chart with a sigh, his pen tapping implicitly on the page. He mumbled something about her being overly sensitive, that her issues were all in her head. Each word felt like a sharp jab, a knife twisting in her gut. The room grew smaller, the sounds louder. The doctor's voice grew louder, more dismissive. He talked over her, his words a blur of condescension. Autie tried to speak, to explain how she felt, but her voice was lost in the cacophony. She could feel her heart pounding, her palms sweating, her throat constricting. Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of his dissonance. Why couldn't he understand? She knew they’re busy, but still.. He began the tests, his cold instruments probing and poking. Each touch was a violation, a scream in her soul. The bright lights above seemed to bore into her, exposing every nerve ending. Autie flinched with each poke of the needle, each squeeze of the blood pressure cuff, each cold stethoscope on her skin. Her hyperactive mind painted the worst-case scenarios behind her closed eyes. The doctor's voice was still a blur, but Autie managed to catch words like "anxiety" and "psychosomatic." Her cheeks burned with shame. Was she really just imagining it all? Were her pain and fears simply the figments of an overactive imagination? But she knew better, she felt the reality of it, the weight of each sensation like an anchor around her neck, pulling her under. Her body was a symphony of discomfort, and he was the one turning a deaf ear. “Dr. Baddy, please, I…” He looked up, his eyes sharp, and she saw a flicker of annoyance behind the professional mask. “Miss, I understand this can be uncomfortable. It's all in your head, you know? It’ll be over..” The words hit Autie like a wave, a cold, unyielding force that crashed over her. Her heart pounded in protest, but she bit her tongue, fighting the urge to scream. Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to shed in front of him. Dr. Baddy continued, his voice a drone in her ears, as if speaking to a toddler. His touch grew more invasive with each test, his dismissive tones grating on her already frayed nerves. Each time he said "it's all in your head," she felt a piece of her sanity chip away. The room was spinning, the pressure in her chest building, her breaths shallow and desperate. She clutched the arms of the chair, her knuckles white, willing herself to stay calm. He didn't look at her as he spoke, his gaze on the computer screen, typing away. The words were a slap in the face, confirming what she feared: he didn't believe her. The pain was real, but in his eyes, she was just another patient to be placated. Autie's voice quivered as she tried to protest, to explain that she wasn't just overreacting. But the words wouldn't come. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight. The room was spinning faster now, the walls closing in. The noise grew louder, a crescendo of doubt and frustration. Dr. Baddy's impatience was palpable. He didn't seem to notice her distress, or if he did, he didn't care. Each new test was a battle for her to endure, a silent cry for validation that went unheard. Finally, Autie reached her breaking point. She couldn't take the poking and prodding anymore, nor his dismissive accusations. With a tremble in her voice, she managed to interject, "It's not all in my head. My body isn't lying to me." Dr. Baddy's eyes snapped to hers, his expression hardening. "Young lady," he began, raising his voice, "you're not making this easy for yourself. These symptoms you're describing are mere textbook anxiety, but until you accept it, we won't get anywhere." His words were exploding in her ears. Autie flinched at his volume, the force of his tone sending shockwaves through her already overstimulated system. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but the walls remained steadfast in their judgment. The air grew thick with his accusations, suffocating her, no matter how hard she’s trying… Her heart hammered. Her mind raced, trying to find the words to explain, but they remained elusive, trapped by the fear that his skepticism had planted. Her breaths grew shallower, each one a struggle. “Sir, I’m neurodivergent…” He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Aren’t we all, I know. But that’s no excuse for overreacting like this. You need to learn to manage your anxiety. This isn’t your first appointment, Miss. I’ve seen worse cases than yours, and they don’t act like you do. Maybe it’s time you complied instead of wasting time with trivial complaints!” The words stung like a thousand needles, piercing her soul. Autie felt a tear slip down her cheek, hot and humiliating. Her body shook with the effort to keep herself from screaming. But she knew she had to keep it together, to fight for herself in this battle of perception. “Doc, if we can just…” Dr. Baddy leaned in, his face inches from hers. “Miss, if you can’t even sit through a simple exam, how do you expect to handle real-world stress? Your symptoms are textbook. I’ve seen it all before. Now, kids have done these tests yet they don’t cry wolf like you do. Get a grip!” Autie felt like she was drowning, his words like a heavy weight pressing on her chest, leaving her gasping for air. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, her body shaking uncontrollably. The doctor's, a place of hope and healing, now felt like a prison. Her heart ached with the injustice of it all. This wasn’t the first time she’d faced disbelief. She wanted to flee, to leave this cruel, albeit professional, man behind. But she knew that would only reinforce his misconceptions about her. But the nurse at the door, the one who had offered a sympathetic smile earlier, was busy with her own work. Autie was alone with Dr. Baddy’s disdain. “I’m going to need you to stay still,” he said, his voice a command. He moved to restrain her flailing limbs, his grip firm and unyielding. The pressure on her wrists and ankles was a new torment, each touch a branding iron on her already raw skin. Autie’s breathing grew quick and shallow, each inhale a battle, each exhale a defeat. She couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. Her chest tightened, a vice squeezing the life out of her. The room swirled into a whirlpool of sound and color, dragging her under as she literally got sick, bringing her even more discomfort. The smell of bile and fear mingled with the antiseptic stink, and she heard Dr. Baddy’s voice, now sharp and accusatory, telling her to calm down. But how could she? The world was a symphony of pain and doubt, and he was the conductor, baton slashing through her defenses. Her stomach lurched again, and she felt the cold, wet floor beneath her knees. Autie was beyond soothing. She was lost in overstimulation, each sensation a new threat to her already fragile psyche. The doctor's hands, now removing the restraints, felt like a hundred biting insects, each touch a reminder of dismissal. Her legs wobbled as she stood, eyes blurry with tears. The floor spun beneath her, and she leaned heavily on the nurse. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered, her voice a balm to Autie's raw soul. But it wasn't ok. Nothing was ok. The world was still a minefield, each step a gamble she wasn't sure she could win. The nurse helped her to a chair, handing her a cup of water. Autie sipped it gratefully, the coolness a brief respite from the fire raging inside her. Dr. Baddy stood back, arms crossed, his face a thundercloud. The room felt like it was shrinking, the embodiment of the doubt that plagued her. But the doctor's words were a weight, dragging her back under. Was she just overreacting? The nurse's voice was a whisper in the chaos. "Miss, let's get you cleaned up, okay?" Autie nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Her body was still shaking, and her eyes stung from the tears. The nurse's touch was firm but kind as she helped Autie to the bathroom. The nurse handed her a wet cloth, and Autie gratefully wiped her face, the coolness bringing a tiny bit of relief. It was something she knew all too well: the look of someone who didn't quite believe her, who thought she was just being dramatic. An ableist microaggression, subtle but stinging nonetheless. "It's okay, you'll be fine," the nurse said, her voice soft but patronizing. Autie could see the judgment lurking beneath her smile. "You just need to learn to cope with your... issues." It was their lack of understanding that was the real issue. But all that came out was a weak, "Thank you." She just wanted some sensory accommodations, but they made it seem like an outrageous request, refusing as if inconvenient. Leaving the office, Autie felt broken, defeated. The sun outside was too bright, the sounds of the world a cacophony she couldn't bear. But she knew she had to find a better doctor, one who would listen.

https://www.autismwellbeing.org.uk/downloadable-resources

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."

Affirmations for Autistic People @neurodivergent_lou Your worth isn't defined by your productivity. You are not lazy for resting. You are not too much as an autistic person. You are not a burden for advocating for your needs and requesting accommodations. Society needs to adapt to you too. You are not faking being autistic. People who aren't autistic don't spend time worrying if they are autistic. Self diagnosis is valid. It is not your fault for struggling in a world that is not built for you. Your sensory issues are very real even if other people have different sensory experiences to you. You are not making things up You are not broken, you are not incomplete.

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."

𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑏𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 ౨ৎ

You don't just practice away a neurological disorder 👀

🧠ᵗᶤʳᵉᵈ ᵇʳᴬᶤᶰ 🧠

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.*

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ & ꜱᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ “Good morning, Ms!” Ms has hypersensitivity due to autism. Even a slight touch is unbearably painful! How will Ms get through the medical exam? Ms sits on the exam table, heart racing. Ms tries to focus on the poster of a serene beach scene to calm herself. Dr. Hartwell, noticing her distress, approaches carefully. "Ms I know this can be overwhelming. But I'm here to help you. We'll take it slow, okay?" Ms nods, gripping the cold metal bar tightly. He starts with gentle explanations of each step, his voice calm and steady. Ms tries to breathe deeply, fighting the urge to retreat. The door clicks shut, a soft, final sound that echoes in the sterile room. He asks if she's ready, and she shrugs. His gloved hand touches her skin, and she tenses. "Ms, I'm sorry," Dr. Hartwell says, retreating slightly. He tries a different approach, his voice softer now. "How about I touch with less pressure?" The pain subsides a fraction, but it still remains. Dr. Hartwell then gets out a big metal speculum. Ms sees it, feels it, she’s uncontrollably shaking. "Ms," Dr. Hartwell says calmly, placing the speculum down. “Sorry. To big and hard,” Ms manages. The doctor nods thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving hers. “Let's use this instead,” he says, picking up a smaller, plastic one. It's less daunting, less cold, but the pain lingers, unbearable. Ms grips the bar tighter, her knuckles white with strain. “You're doing great,” Dr. Hartwell whispers, his voice a balm. He inserts the speculum slowly, his eyes on her face, reading every twitch, every flinch. Ms squeezes her eyes shut, body rigid with tension. The plastic touches, slides, and she gasps, but it's more unbearable than she feared. Dr. Hartwell stops immediately, his expression filled with concern. "Would you like to insert it?" He gently withdraws the tool. They’re running out of time. He looks around the room. "How about we try this?" he asks, his voice a gentle coax. "You can sit in the chair, lean back, and I'll examine you that way." Ms nods, desperation in her eyes. Dr. Hartwell adjusts the chair, bringing the foot rest closer. He tells her to put her feet up, the action itself traumatizing. He takes the smaller speculum, coated it in gel, and tells her to breathe deeply. Dr. Hartwell proceeds, his movements precise and gentle. Ms feels the pressure, the intrusion. She whimpers. The doctor's eyes meet hers, filled with understanding. "Let's try this," he suggests, picking up a small object. "I'm going to use this cotton swab instead. It's softer, less intrusive." Ms nods, the fear lessening ever so slightly. The cotton swab touches her gently. The pain does not vanish, but it's tolerable, a dull throb instead of a piercing scream. The doctor's voice remains calm, guiding her through the motions. “Good. Now for a mammogram..” Ms feels a new wave of anxiety crash over her. The machine looms in the corner, cold and unforgiving. "It’s important we check everything today," Dr. Hartwell explains, his eyes kind and patient. "But I know this is hard for you. Can you please stand up and come…” Ms, however, is still shaking, knows her hypersensitive condition will render it. The doctor notices and quickly adapts. "How about we skip the mammogram for now and discuss other options?" They talk through alternatives, like manual self-checks at home. Dr. Hartwell assures her that her health is his priority. He's willing to work with her to find the best approach, one that's comfortable and effective. Ms feels a glimmer of hope, a hint of trust and gratitude. They agree on a plan: a manual exam for today, and they'll explore further options for if needed. Her eyes light up with hope. They go over the instructions, simple steps she can do herself. Ms feels empowered by the idea of having control over the process. The doctor's empathy is palpable. They practice together, a mock exam with a plastic model. Mis's hands shake slightly as she mimics his gentle touch. He corrects her grip, praising each small victory. “Your in need of two hormone inoculations.” Dr. Hartwell says. Mis's heart sinks. She hates the sharp sting, the feeling of invasion. She looks at the needle, so thin and yet so terrifying. Her anxiety spikes, her chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. Dr. Hartwell notices and nods. "Ok let's try something different," he says, his voice calm and measured. He shows her a cream, explaining how it can help. They apply it, waiting for it to work. Finally, the time comes. Dr. Hartwell holds the needle, his grip steady and firm. His touch is swift and sure, but Ms feels the pain, a sharp reminder of her vulnerability. “One down, one more to…” But she cries. Dr. Hartwell pauses, understanding in his eyes. "It's ok," he says gently. "We can find another way." He sets it aside and pulls out a small device. "This is a topical anesthetic spray. It will numb the area so you don't feel as much." Mis nods, desperate. He applies the spray, and she feels a coldness spread where the inoculation will soon be. The doctor waits patiently, letting the numbing agent work its magic. Mis's breathing slows, the panic easing slightly. "Ready?" he asks, his voice soothing. This time, the approach is less terrifying. It’s administered with minimal discomfort. Ms winces but does not pull away. The pain is there, but it's muffled. Dr. Hartwell nods, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "Good job, Ms. You're doing so well." Ms needs a blood draw. She's not just afraid of needles, but the anticipation of pain, the cold touch of the alcohol swab, the pressure of the phlebotomist's grip...it's all too much. Not to mention the actual poking prick.. Dr. Hartwell notices and suggests a compromise. They'll use a butterfly needle, smaller and more comfortable, and a warmer to heat before drawn. The nurse prepares the equipment, movements efficient and kind. She's used to dealing with anxious patients, but Mis's fear isn’t just fear or annoyance; it’s autistic condition and hypersensitivity that Ms herself knows limited pain tolerance. The nurse wraps the warm cloth around Mis's arm, and the gentle heat seeps. Dr. Hartwell takes his place beside her, holding the small butterfly needle with a cotton ball at the tip. The nurse places the heated alcohol swab on the inner elbow, and Ms tenses. It's a gentle poke and she feels the slight sting as the nurse inserts it. But of course the sting is magnified for Ms. The nurse is quick, her hands steady with expert ease, and the whole process is over in seconds. Mis's heart is racing, her body shaking. Dr. Hartwell rubs her shoulder, his touch a reassurance. "It's over," he says softly. "You did it." Ms nods. "What can we use for next time?" The nurse asks. “X-rays, different form of the hormonal injection where no needles are involved, urinal test instead of bleeding? A bigger room? Child sedatives?” Ms murmurs. Dr. Hartwell nods, scribbling down notes. "We'll explore all those options. In the meantime, you can go home!" “Thanks..” Ms says. The next appointment, Mis goes knowing her sensitivities have not changed. This time, Dr. Hartwell meets her in the hall. Mis breaks down, despite being gratefully understanding and trying to be brave. They take her to a quieter, more private exam room, decorated with soothing colors and a soft, plush chair. "Take your time, and tell when you're ready." Ms sits down. She sees a box labeled "DIY Health Kits" and feels a spark of curiosity. Dr. Hartwell opens the box, revealing an array of tools and instructions tailored to her needs. "This is your DIY health kit," he explains, his voice calm and soothing. "You can use to perform self-exams at home. It's less invasive, and you can do it on your own terms." Ms nods, a flicker of hope in her eyes, tears of relief instead of upset tears. He hands a small container with a test strip inside. "This is for urine. It's quick and easy, and it will tell what needs to know." Ms takes the container, follows his instructions, each step a small victory. Dr. Hartwell shows her a slim device, similar to a tampon but with a small cap. "This is DIY Pap. You insert it like so, then twist to collect a sample." The vibrating ice pack is next. "For finger pricks," he says, his voice calm. Ms looks at it, a strange mix of relief and curiosity. The thought of doing it herself is less terrifying than the clinic. "Now, let's talk mammograms," Dr. Hartwell says, his gaze soft. He shows her a handheld scanning device. "This is a DIY mammogram. It uses sound waves, no radiation, and it's less invasive than the traditional. You can use it in the privacy of your home, at your own pace. It's designed to be gentle." Ms nods, the fear slightly eased. The doctor opens another compartment in the DIY health kit, revealing a pack of colonoscopy strips. "These are for checking your bowel health. They're painless and easy to use. All you do is defecate on this, will tell what’s going on down there, ok?" Ms nods. The idea of self-examination is less daunting than the traditional methods. Dr. Hartwell's empathy is a balm, his patience unyielding. He opens the last compartment. Inside, she finds a set of small patches. "These are the hormonal patches," he says, holding one up. "They're like stickers. You just apply one to your skin, and it delivers the medicine through your skin. No needles." Mis's eyes widen. It's like he's reading her mind, offering a solution tailored to her fears. Ms feels a surge of gratitude to Dr. Hartwell. His understanding and willingness to adapt to her needs make her feel seen and heard, something she's not used to, in a medical setting. For the first time, Ms feels a glimmer of hope that she can take control of without the debilitating pain nor fear of ableist microaggressions. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

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

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

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."

JUST A TOUCH iii (Autistic author) ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ Once home, she helped him settle into his favorite chair, his eye scanning the room. Everything was in its place, exactly as he liked it. Karen noticed his breathing slow as the familiarity washed over him. She knew that routine and order could be vital to his comfort now to avoid triggering his anxiety. Then suddenly, Plankton began to rock back and forth. Karen recognized the motion. It was a new behavior, one she hadn't seen before. His body swayed with a rhythm that matched the ticking of the antique clock on the wall. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We're home now." The rocking grew more intense, his eye darting around the room, his antennae vibrating with each back-and-forth movement. Karen's mind raced, trying to remember the doctor's words. Sensory overload. He needed calm. Swiftly, she dimmed the lights, the neon signs from the Krabby Patty franchise across the street casting soothing shadows through the windows. The glow was just enough to illuminate the space without causing further distress, and she watched as Plankton's rocking subsided. She sat by him. She grasped and squeezed his shoulder. But this time, he flinched. "Plankton?" she asked, concern etching her voice. He pulled away from her, his antennae dropping to his side. The doctor had mentioned that some with autism might have heightened sensitivity to touch. Karen felt a knot in her stomach. "What if he doesn't like me touching him anymore?" she thought. "What if I can't comfort him when he's upset?" She decided to test the waters gently. Reaching out, she lightly trailed her finger over his hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged, she placed her hand on his shoulder again, this time more softly. He tensed, then relaxed. It was progress. "Let's start with simple touch," she said, her voice soothing. The doctor had mentioned that Plankton might be hypersensitive to certain types of touch, and Karen was determined to navigate this new aspect of their relationship with care. She placed a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton flinched, his antennae retreating. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen." Her hand hovered over his, unsure of the best way to provide comfort. Karen took a deep breath, deciding to try again. This time, she approached with care, her touch feather-light, gliding over his hand like the softest of sea breezes. Plankton's antennae twitched, and his gaze remained on her hand, watching the movement as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Gradually, the tension in his body eased, and his hand lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative touch, his fingers brushing against hers, testing the waters. Karen felt a rush of relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand was cold, his grip firm but not painful. His eye locked onto hers, searching for reassurance. Slowly, she began to stroke his hand with her thumb, applying the slightest pressure. His breathing evened out, his antennae rising slightly. Encouraged, she tried a different type of touch—a gentle squeeze. This time, he didn't flinch. Instead, his hand returned the gesture, his own grip matching hers in strength. Karen felt a flicker of hope. "Maybe we can find a way through this," she thought. They sat in silence for a few moments, their hands entwined, as Karen tried to think of the next step. The doctor's words echoed in her mind: find what works for him. Gently, she began to rub his hand, her thumb moving in small, soothing circles. Plankton seemed to find comfort in the predictable pattern, his body unwinding a fraction more. Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer, her other hand reaching out to tap his shoulder. But as soon as her hand made contact with his skin, he jerked away, his eye flashing with fear and pain. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her heart racing. "I didn't mean to scare you." Plankton stared at her, his expression unreadable. "It's just, sometimes touch feels..." His words trailed off, and Karen felt her own fear rising. "Painful?" she guessed, her voice trembling. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Some touches are okay, others..." He paused, his eye darting to his hand, which was still wrapped around hers. "It's confusing." Karen nodded, her heart aching for him. She knew she had to be more mindful of his sensory needs. Carefully, she pats his cheek with the back of her hand, the lightest of touches. Plankton's antennae flinched, but he didn't pull away until she put both of her hands on his shoulders. The sudden pressure was too much, like an electric shock. "Karen," he said, his voice tight with discomfort, "too much." Karen nodded, her hands retreating to her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching hers. "It's okay, Karen," he said, his voice measured. "But some touches are too much." Karen nodded, her heart heavy. She had so much to learn about this new Plankton, this person she knew so well yet barely knew at all. "I'll be more careful," she promised, squeezing his hand gently. Plankton's gaze remained steady on hers, his expression neutral. "Thank you, Karen," he said, giving her a side hug. This was a Plankton she had never seen before, one who spoke in a staccato rhythm, his movements precise and calculated. Yet, in the safety of their home, Karen saw glimpses of the man she knew. Her eyes fell upon a pamphlet the doctor had given her, titled 'Understanding Neurodivergence'. She picked it up and began to read. The first few pages were dedicated to explaining what it meant to be neurodivergent, how it wasn't an illness but a natural variation in the brain. Plankton's new condition, Acquired Autism, was one of the many spectrums that fell under this umbrella. Karen read through the descriptions of different behaviors, her eyes widening as she recognized some of the changes in Plankton— his need for order, his heightened sensitivity to stimuli, and his newfound obsessions. The pamphlet explained that these were common in individuals with his condition and offered optional suggestions for supporting them. Her gaze fell upon a section titled 'Seizure Protocols'. Karen's eyes widened as she read about the different types of seizures that could occur due to neurodivergence. Some were minor, like staring spells, while others could be more severe. Her heart raced as she thought of Plankton, his body stiffening and shaking. The pamphlet recommended to keep any sharp or harmful objects away from him. It was important not to restrain him, but instead, to gently guide him to the floor if necessary. The next section discussed how to communicate with someone on the spectrum. It suggested using clear, direct language, avoiding sarcasm and idioms. Karen realized that she would have to learn a new way of speaking with Plankton. Her screen skimmed over the pages, absorbing the information like a sponge. The pamphlet highlighted the importance of individuality and diversity, emphasizing that Plankton's brain was not broken, but simply wired differently. This was a concept she had heard of before, but it had never hit so close to home. The causes of neurodisability varied widely, from genetics to congenital to trauma. One paragraph caught her attention—brain injuries could lead to conditions like Acquired Autism. The words swirled in her mind, a stark reminder of the wrench that had changed everything. As Karen read on, she learned about the complex interplay of biological factors and life experiences that can shape a person's neurodivergence. It was both overwhelming and fascinating, a glimpse into a world she had never truly understood.

⁉️*️꩜

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."