KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ii
(Autistic author)
The next morning, Karen woke up to
find Plankton still asleep, his hand
still clutching hers. She gently
pulled her hand away and stood up.
Plankton's snores echoed
through the quiet room. Karen
studied his peaceful expression, his
features softer in sleep, and felt a
surge of affection for the man she
had married so many years ago.
In the cold light of day, the reality
of his condition settled in.
He was different, but she
would not let that change the way
she saw him. As a robot, Karen
understood the importance of
adjusting to new situations, and
this was no exception.
As Plankton stirred, she quickly
moved to his side, ready to face
whatever challenges the day
might bring. His eye opened,
looking around the room
before settling on her.
"Karen," he said, his voice
still flat, but with a hint of
recognition.
"Good morning, Plankton," she
replied.
This was their first day facing
his autism together, and she had
spent the night
preparing.
Plankton sat up, his eye
locking onto hers. "Morning," he
repeated. His movements were
slow, deliberate, as if his brain
was processing each action. "Would
you like some breakfast?" she asked.
He nodded.
"No vault," he murmured, and she
could see the beginnings of a frown.
Karen nodded, knowing that
his obsessions might become more
pronounced. "It's okay," she said.
"We don't need the vault."
Plankton's eye searched her face,
his expression unreadable. "No
vault," he repeated, his voice
rising slightly. "Good."
Karen nodded. "Let's start the
day," she suggested, trying to
shift the focus. She led him to the
tiny kitchen area, the smell of
chum wafting through the air.
Plankton followed her, his steps
measured and precise. His gaze
flitted around the room, taking
in every detail.
"Would you like eggs or chum?"
she asked.
"Both," he said, his voice clearer
than before.
Karen nodded, cracking an egg
over the sizzling pan. Plankton sat
at the table, rocking back and forth
slightly. It was clear that
his senses were heightened, every
sound and smell more intense than
before.
"Here's your breakfast, Plankton,"
she said, placing the plate in front
of him. His gaze fixated on the
food, his eye narrowing as if
studying a complex puzzle. "Thank
you," he said, the words coming out
mechanically.
But as Karen stirred the chum and
eggs together, something shifted in
his demeanor. He stiffened in his
chair, his rocking coming to an
abrupt halt. "What's wrong?" she
asked, noticing the sudden change.
Plankton's eye grew wide. "No," he
whispered, his voice strained. "Not
together. Separate," he
demanded, his voice growing more
urgent.
Karen paused, her circuits racing.
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I'll
fix it." She carefully scraped the
food onto two separate places, one
with egg, one with chum. She placed
it in front of him, hoping she
was interpreting his needs correctly.
Plankton stared. "Different plate,"
he murmured. "And a new spoon.
And new eggs not touching new chum."
Karen nodded, quickly moving to
comply with his requests. She knew
that routines and sensory preferences
could be crucial for individuals with
autism, and she wanted to make sure
his first breakfast post-diagnosis was
as comfortable as possible. She
replicated his meal with meticulous
precision, ensuring every detail was
exactly as he had specified, ridding of
the old food.
The new plate was set before him,
the eggs and chum neatly separated.
Plankton's shoulders relaxed slightly.
He picked up the spoon, his gaze
intensely focused on the task at
hand. Karen watched as he took a
tiny bite in what seemed like pleasure.
"Good?" she ventured.
Plankton nodded, his eye not
leaving the plate. "Good," he echoed,
his voice still monotone.
Karen observed him as he
methodically ate his breakfast,
each bite the same size, each chew
lasting the same amount of time.
It was fascinating and slightly
disconcerting to watch the man
she knew so well now engaging with
the world in such a different way.
Plankton's routine was always
important, but now it had taken
on a new level of significance.
The clink of the spoon against the
plate was the only sound in the
room, the rhythm of it almost
hypnotic.
As Plankton finished his meal,
his head snapped up, his gaze
sharp and focused on her. "Karen,"
he said, his voice now clear and
concise.
"Yes, Plankton?" she replied,
wiping down the counter.
"Thank you," he said, his eye
fixed on the now-empty
plate.
Karen nodded, taking the
dishes to the sink. She could feel
his eye on her as she moved about
the room, the weight of his
silence a stark contrast to his
usual incessant chatter. She knew
that autism would bring
challenges, but she was
determined to be there for him.