PLUSH ONE i
(By NeuroFabulous)
Karen's watching her
husband, Plankton,
who had been working
tirelessly for hours, the
metal container his new
project. He wrestled
with a stubborn bolt, his
face a picture of concentration.
Suddenly, Plankton's grip loosens
as the bolt flies off the
rusted metal, smacking him
in the head. He topples back, his
head hitting the cold
concrete floor with a thud as the
metal shelf collapses on his head.
Karen gasps. Plankton
lies still, unconscious.
Her eyes widen with fear
as she rushes over. She checks
his pulse, finding a steady
beat. Relief washes over her.
He's alive, but she can see
the bruising as she clears the
metal away from him.
"Plankton, honey," she whispers,
shaking him gently. "Can you
hear me?" No response, his eye
closed tightly. Panic starts to
creep in, but Karen forces
herself to remain calm. "Come
on, wake up," she says, a little
louder this time.
The room feels like it's spinning,
but she takes a deep breath
and dials for medics.
The phone seems to ring forever,
each second stretching into eternity.
The dispatcher's voice is a distant
echo in her panic-filled hearing,
but she manages to spit out their
address, the gravity of the situation,
and Plankton's name.
While waiting for the medics,
Karen can't help but worry about
his well-being. She knows how
much he puts into his projects,
how much he loves tinkering and
inventing.
Two paramedics rush
inside, their footsteps
heavy. They quickly assess
Plankton's condition, their faces
masks of professional concern
as they set up some medical
equipment around.
"Ma'am, can you tell me
what happened?" one asks
while checking his vitals.
Her voice shaky, Karen recounts
the accident, never
leaving Plankton's still form.
They nod, working swiftly and
efficiently. Karen winces
but remains composed as they
clean the wound and apply pressure.
The other paramedic starts
an IV, explaining that Plankton
might have a concussion and
that they need to monitor his
condition closely. Karen nods, trying
to process the situation as she
watches them work. "We'll stay as
he wakes up and only leave once
the damage has been assessed."
Karen's eyes well up with tears,
but she fights them back, gripping
his hand tightly.
The wait for Plankton to stir
feels interminable. The tick of
the clock echoes through the room,
each second a reminder of his
potentially serious condition.
The silence is pierced only
by the occasional beep of the
medical devices and the rustle
of the paramedics' movements. They
decide to perform a more thorough
examination, including a quick
brain scan to rule out any serious
damage. One of them holds a scanner
device over his head, watching
the readouts with a furrowed brow.
The results come
in, and the
paramedics share
a concerned look.
"Ma'am, it seems your husband
has sustained a head injury
that's led to a... unique
complication," one of them says,
his voice measured. "It's a
form of autism, from
the impact. It's not unheard of,
but it's definitely not common."
Karen's eyes widen. Autism?
Her mind races as she tries
to grasp what this means for
Plankton. "What do I do?"
she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
The paramedics explain that
this type of autism is
known as Acquired Autism,
a rarity. "It's like his brain
rewired itself to compensate," one
of them says.
Karen nods, trying to
understand. Her mind is
a whirlwind of questions,
each more overwhelming than
the last. How will this change
Plankton? Their life together?
The paramedics outline
some of the potential
symptoms he might exhibit:
social withdrawal, sensory
overload, difficulty with
change, and the possibility
of developing intense
interests or routines. They
tell her that every case is
unique, and they can't predict
exactly how Plankton will be
affected.
They also mention that
there can be positive
changes, like heightened
focus or skills in specific
areas, often referred to
as savantism. But they
stress the importance of
keeping him comfort.
Karen nods, her mind racing
as she tries to imagine
their future. The quiet
whir of the medical devices
in the background seems to
mirror the chaos in her thoughts.
The paramedics continue,
explaining that Plankton may
now see the world differently,
senses heightened or dulled,
social interactions
potentially altered. He might
find comfort in routine,
the predictability of the mundane
offering a solace that the
unexpected could not. She wonders
how this will affect their dynamic,
their shared jokes and laughter.
They tell her that autism, congenital
or acquired, is irreversible. It's
a part of him now, a new chapter
in the story of their lives. It's
not a disease to be cured, but
a condition to be understood.
Finally, a low groan escapes.
"Honey, can you open your eye?"
Karen asks, her voice a mix of
relief and anxiety. Slowly, Plankton's
lid flutters open, revealing a
dazed expression.
"What... happened?" he slurs,
his eye struggling to focus.
The paramedics exchange a hopeful
glance; he's coming around.
They decide to ask Plankton simple
questions to assess his cognition.
"Plankton, can you tell me your name?"
one of the paramedics asks, a gentle
smile playing on their lips. "Name, Sheldon
Jay Plankton."
His voice is slow, but clear.
A flicker of relief lights up Karen's screen.
He seems to be responding coherently.
The next question comes,
"What's your wife's name?"
"Karen." It's a victory, a sign
that he's still in there.
But the joy is short-lived as
Plankton begins to stim.
He starts rocking back and forth.
The paramedics' calmly explain,
"It's a form of self-soothing.
It's common with autism. Let's
see if we can get him to focus.
What's your favorite color?"
He stops rocking for a moment,
his gaze locking onto a blue tool
on the floor. "Blue," he says.
"Good, good," the paramedic nods,
noticing the sudden change in his
demeanor. "What do you like to do
for fun?" The paramedic asks while
the other paramedic removes the IV.
But Plankton, feeling them remove
his IV, yelps. His hands begin to
flap rapidly as he looks around the
room, his eye wide with fear.
"It's okay," Karen whispers, stroking
his hand, trying to soothe him.
The paramedics' eyes meet hers, their
expressions sympathetic. "It's okay,
Plankton. You're safe."
They try another question, one
that's more familiar to him. "Do
you remember your latest invention?"
But Plankton's still feeling the sting
of the IV removal, his eye darting
around the room, not quite focusing
on anyone or anything. "Look, Plankton,
a button," Karen says softly, pointing as
she tries to refocus him.
He turns his head slightly, his
eye locking onto her hand. "Button,"
he repeats, his voice a whisper as
he rubs his arm.
The paramedics nod, giving
Karen an encouraging look. She
continues, "Plankton, sweetie, can you tell
me what the button does?"
For a moment, he's still. Then,
he answers. "What the button
does Plankton."
It's a start, a glimmer of the
Plankton she knows. Karen's eyes
fill with hope as she presses on.
"Yes, honey, what happens when you
push the button?"
He blinks, his gaze shifting
from her hand to the floor,
and then back up to her.
"The button... tell... what the
button does Plankton," he
mumbles.
Encouraged by the response,
she leans in closer, her voice
even softer. "The button, honey,
what happens when you push it?"
Plankton's eye refocus,
his mind racing to piece
together the fragmented
information. His voice
quivers with effort as he
says, "Button... blue... go."
The words are disjointed,
but there's a spark in his eye.
Karen's hope grows as she
realizes he's trying to communicate.
"Is that your invention, Plankton?"
she asks, her voice trembling.
He nods slightly, his hand reaching
for the metal shelf that had
fallen. She gently guides his hand
back to the button.
The paramedics watch the interaction
closely, noting his responses.
They're looking for signs of coherence,
anything that might indicate the
extent of his cognitive ability.
"Can you tell me the purpose of
your invention, Plankton?"
His gaze flits from the button
to Karen's screen and back again.
"Button... blue... go," he repeats.
"Can you tell me the purpose of
your invention Plankton." He parrots.
Karen's eyes widen. "It's okay,
sweetheart," she says, her voice
shaky. "Just tell me what the button
is for."
Plankton whispers, "Button... blue... go,"
his gaze intense. "Tell Karen
what the button is for.."
Karen's eyes never leave him, her
heart pounding in her chest as she
sees the effort he's making.
"The button," she prompts softly,
"what does it do?"
Plankton's breath hitches, his
fingers tapping a
rhythm. "Button... blue...
go," he murmurs, the words
falling out of order, as if his brain
is trying to solve a puzzle.
Karen nods encouragingly,
her screen brimming with unshed
tears. She knows she needs to be
patient, to guide him through this
new reality. "Honey, the button...
what happens when it goes blue?"
Plankton's hand twitches, then
stills. He stares at the button,
thoughts visibly racing. "Go...
blue... button." The words come out
slowly, as if he's assembling them
carefully in his mind. "It goes blue."
The paramedics nod, scribbling notes
on their clipboards. One says, "That's
good. Keep prompting him. It's
important to see how his cognition
functions."
She tries to think of more questions
to unlock the Plankton she knew
before. "What's your favorite food?"
she asks.
He pauses, his gaze drifting
to the corner of the room, then
snaps back to her, his eye brightening
slightly. "Krabby Patty," he says, his
voice clearer now. "We sell chum..."
Karen's gaze swells with hope,
his words a familiar echo of their
shared past. The Krabby Patty was his
lifelong obsession, a symbol of his
restaurant rivalry with Mr. Krabs.
It's a sign, however small, that he's
still in there. "Yes, Plankton," she
smiles, her voice thick with emotion.