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It almost felt inevitable to Eddie if he’s being honest. The other shoe, and all that. He had been in therapy for nearly five months and had worked through so much trauma he’s pretty sure he could have a degree in counseling at this point. He’d read enough books and done enough therapy homework to qualify it seems. His therapy appointments were only twice a month now and he was feeling like they were getting close to termination (a therapy word meaning “conclusion of treatment”, Eddie had learned a couple months earlier). He couldn’t be more excited about being a therapy graduate. He was proud of himself, damn it. He put in the work, brought himself back up from rock bottom, and built the life he truly wanted. He was back at the 118, he had a great relationship with Christopher, and best of all – he finally pursued the relationship with Buck he had pretty much always wanted. The other man had broken it off with Taylor a few months prior following a bit of a breakdown on Buck’s part that led to him realizing his feelings for Eddie right around the time Eddie was accepting his feelings for him. After a couple of joint therapy sessions, and Buck promising to return to therapy himself, they finally just sort of… Fell into a relationship.
So, when Eddie sat in what he was thinking would be one of his last sessions, with Frank watching him with a contemplative gaze, he almost wasn’t surprised when his therapist said, “Eddie, there’s a topic I’d like to broach with you.”
“What topic?” Eddie spoke slowly, suspicion lacing his voice. It was never good when Frank spoke cryptically like this. It usually meant his head was about to be cracked like an egg.
“I’m just going to be blunt with you,” the older man leaned forward, folding his arms over his leg, “do you know if you were ever diagnosed with autism? Or if anyone suspected you had it?”
This stopped Eddie short. Autism? Of course not. there's nothing wrong with having autism of course, it’s just that Eddie doesn’t… fit it. He doesn’t flap his hands or ignore people or make odd sounds and he’s not obsessed with trains or cars or anything like that. He’s also not some savant with a wildly amazing skill in something, isn’t that what autism is? Surely, he would have known if someone ever thought he had autism. Doesn’t that show up in childhood? He would have had trouble in school, he would have had trouble making friends, he would have had some sort of clue, right?
“Eddie? Where’d you go?”
“Uhm,” Eddie blinked, looking up at him. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before speaking again, “sorry, I just… I’m surprised. Why do you ask?”
“Well, over our time together, I’ve just noticed some patterns,” Frank began with a nod, “some signs that maybe some of the sources of your struggles aren’t actually your traumatic experiences, but rather-“
“Autism?”
“Unrecognized autism, particularly.”
“What does that mean?” Eddie almost laughed at the absurdity. Frank has done a lot to help him reprocess his trauma and get to a good place, but this? This is a bit out of left field. “Unrecognized?”
“Well,” Frank began, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap, “just that you’ve gone through life maybe without knowing you were autistic, and that can cause great difficulties.”
“I’m sure it can,” Eddie nodded, biting at the skin on his bottom lip, “but I don’t think that’s me.”
Frank just gave him that soft therapist-y smile that kind of drove Eddie crazy sometimes and produced a piece of paper from below his notepad, “here, take this home and look it over. Maybe contact your parents and ask about your childhood?”
“I really don’t think-“
“Couldn’t hurt, right?” Frank met his gaze and held it before Eddie darted his eyes away and looked up at the ceiling. He mumbled an “okay” and grabbed the paper, glancing at the title (‘Undiagnosed Autism in Adults’) before folding it into fourths and putting it in his pocket. He sighed and looked up at Frank again to see him still watching him. He looked back down at his hands and coughed, “so is our time up?”
“Just about,” Frank replied, a softer grin taking over his face. “You’ve come such a long way Eddie, and I think figuring this out could be a really pivotal step for you.”
Eddie just nodded and tried to hurriedly wrap up the session so he could get to his car and decompress. He made sure that his next session was scheduled and nearly ran to the parking lot to get into his truck, slamming the door a bit harder than intended. He didn’t have autism, of course he didn’t. It’s not bad, it’s just not him.
Other people can have autism. Not Eddie. Eddie’s not like that.
He’s not different like that.
He’s not broken like that.
1989
Helena knew that something wasn’t quite right with Eddie. He was talking with a surprisingly advanced vocabulary, he even was recognizing written words already, and his fine motor skills were on par for his age.
But he wasn’t walking.
He was nearing 19 months and it was becoming a problem. He would scoot along the ground on his bottom, and every now and then he would pull himself up to stand at the edge of the coffee table or the edge of his playpen, but he had yet to take that first step.
The night before the doctor’s appointment she’d set up the week before, she sat up with Ramon at the kitchen table.
“What if something’s wrong with him?” She worried her lip between her teeth, looking up at her husband, “what if he never walks?”
“No, don’t think like that my dear,” he reached over to take her hand into his, “everything’s fine, you’ll see. Diego told me that the first child sometimes is slower to learn things like walking.”
“Is your brother a doctor, Ramon?” Helena snapped back dryly with a roll of her eyes, but it still seemed to settle her a bit.
“No, but he has three children,” Ramon laughed softly, “I am inclined to believe he knows what he’s talking about.”
Still, Helena worried, because it’s what she did best. Helena worried and Ramon deflected, insisted things were fine despite evidence to the contrary. Despite the doctor the next day asking if he could speak to the couple in his office while a nurse watched Eddie.
The two entered the cramped room, only one chair sitting at the front of his desk. Ramon wordlessly offered it to Helena, who sat gingerly on the wooden surface. She reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed, mirroring the fear gripping her throat. Something had to be very wrong for him to want to speak to them alone like this.
“I won’t beat around the bush here,” the doctor, Dr. Harris, spoke from behind his desk. “I think it’s possible that Edmundo has autistic disorder.”
Helena and Ramon looked at each other before looking back at the man in front of them. They’d heard of this before, autism, but surely that wasn’t their Eddie. The only autistic child Helena had ever seen was her friend, Gloria’s, son. He barely ever spoke, would constantly have outbursts and tantrums that required quick removal from whatever situation they were in, and he seemed content to spend hours alone playing with his toy cars. Eddie wasn’t like that, he liked talking to people, even if he sometimes didn’t realize you were supposed to let other people talk back. He had tantrums sometimes, but what nearly two-year-old didn’t?
“But Eddie talks just fine,” she began, disbelief evident in her furrowed brow and slight shake of her head, “he talks to people, he-he doesn’t throw bad tantrums, he’s… He’s normal.”
Dr. Harris just smiled a bit, listening to her speak before raising a hand to calm her, “Mrs. Diaz, I’m not a psychologist, but I can tell you that Edmundo fits many of the criteria for the disorder.”
“Many?” Ramon spoke up now, and Helena realized quickly that her husband was going to get angry. “Many, but not all? My son does not have anything wrong with him.”
“I understand you’re upset,” Dr. Harris spoke with kindness, Helena knew, but Ramon wasn’t having it. “And I would venture to say your son is likely on the higher-functioning end of things, but I cannot give a definitive diagnosis. I highly recommend you see a child psychologist.”
“We won’t be doing that,” Ramon spat out at him, pulling on Helena’s hand to get her to move. “My son is not retarded.”
Helena pulled her purse up on her shoulder and stepped around the chair to follow her husband out of the room, tears gathering in her eyes as she went. Ramon was right, surely. Eddie was just a... late bloomer. He needed a little more time; it didn’t mean he was handicapped like that. Everything would be fine.
Present
Eddie and Buck were lying on the couch, Buck stretched out with his legs splayed across the cushions and Eddie nestled between them, his back to Buck’s chest with strong arms wrapped around him. Eddie held his boyfriend’s hands in his own, running his thumbs along the calloused skin in a soothing motion. If he’s being honest, the motion probably soothed him more than Buck. The TV was on some true crime show but the volume was low, and they weren’t really paying attention.
“What’re you thinking about Eds?” Buck’s words cut through the relative silence, hushed in the dim environment. “I can hear your thoughts going.”
“I had a really interesting therapy appointment yesterday,” he began slowly, the movement of his thumbs becoming quicker, “and I don’t know how I feel about it.”
“What… What did you all talk about?” Buck was hesitant, and Eddie knew it was because they rarely talked about his therapy. Eddie was a closed off guy, and while therapy has helped him to open up a little bit and share his emotions more often, he didn’t really go into details of what happened at his sessions.
“He-” Eddie cut himself off with a shake of his head, mind still reeling at the mere possibility. He took a moment, breathing in deeply before speaking again, this time much softer, “he asked if they had ever thought I had autism as a kid.”
Buck was silent as he took in the information, and Eddie let him be. He knew that Buck’s ADHD sometimes required a little bit of time to process new information. After a moment, he merely said, “oh.”
“Oh?” Eddie pressed him, turning his head to get a look at his partner’s face, “what does ‘oh’ mean?”
“Nothing!” Buck assured him, though his fingers fidgeted in Eddie’s hold. “It’s nothing, I just..” He sighed before reaching for the back of the couch to grab his phone, unlocking and opening it. He tapped a few spots on the screen before handing the device to Eddie.
“What is this?” He asked, squinting a bit at the bright screen that has bathed them in light in the dark room. On the screen, he saw a tab group in Safari labeled “Eds ASD”. He hesitantly touched the folder and about twenty tabs populated in the browser. “Buck?”
“I kind of have wondered,” Buck spoke softly again, his words barely a whisper behind Eddie’s ear, “I wasn’t sure, but then I moved in and got to see even more of you and I just… I don’t know, learning about my own ADHD kind of made me more alert to neurodivergent stuff I guess.” There was a hint of insecurity in his tone, the words wobbling as they came out. Eddie, for his part, just stared wide-eyed at the screen as he flipped through the tabs. A lot of them were from the website Embrace Autism, a few seemed to be some kind of assessments, and others appeared to be articles and blog posts.
“You don’t have to like, do anything with all this,” Buck spoke again when Eddie stayed silent for a while, “I know it’s hard when you’re facing something like this. When I found out I had ADHD, I had to like… Totally tear down all these assumptions I had about myself.”
The screen on the phone in Eddie’s still hands dimmed as he spoke.
“I have… Noticed things that have made me wonder,” he continued, reaching his hands around to take the phone from Eddie’s grasp before taking his hands in his own, “and if that’s something you wanted to look into, I’m right here with you the whole way.”
“I don’t know-“
“But,” Buck cut him off with a soft kiss to the shell of his ear, “but if you don’t want to, or if you need time, that’s okay too.”
That’s what he needed. He just needed time.
1998
11-year-old Eddie sat on the gym floor, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms crossed in front of him. The bright, fluorescent overhead lights buzzed loudly, drawing his attention incessantly. The raucous noises of the after-school program infiltrated his ears, with kids yelling around the echoing room, balls dribbling across the court, and shoes squeaking on the wood. Every time another kid would run by him laughing or yelling, his hands flew instinctively to his ears, seeking even a tiny bit of protection from the intrusion. It didn’t help much, but he still felt a little better anyway. Every now and then, one of the counselors would come and sit by him, ask him a question or two or maybe try and get him to participate in a game. He would always just shrug, offer a word or two of refusal, before ducking his head down. These were his bad days though.
On his good days, on days where the world wasn’t quite so… prickly, he would sometimes try and play with the other kids. He had even once tried to join in on a game of HORSE with some of the 4th and 5th graders. When it came to his turn to make up a shot, one of the 4th graders laughed as he threw the ball clumsily toward the basket. It fell short by about three feet and pathetically dribbled away. Eddie could feel the hot sting of tears behind his eyes as the other kids joined in the laughter, so he got out of there as quickly as he could. He’d found the nearest counselor and informed her in one quick breath that he was going to the bathroom before stalking out of the gym and down the hallway.
He just didn’t understand why it felt so hard to talk to the other kids. He tried so hard, he did. He played their games even though they sometimes didn’t make sense to him (why was it called HORSE anyway?), he tried to talk about the things they seemed to like even though they didn’t seem to be interested in the things he was into, and he even got a joke book from the library once so he could make them laugh. That hadn’t gone over very well because well, he needed to have the book with him so he could read from it because he couldn’t memorize the whole thing and for some reason that made him a “loser” and they laughed at him instead of the joke. He didn’t understand the things they laughed at, like the basketball. He couldn’t make the basket, so what? Why was that funny? All he knew is when they laughed, they were laughing at him like he was the joke.
He sat with his back to the wall beside the bathroom, sniffling as a few tears escaped his eyes. His legs were crossed in front of him and his hands sat in his lap, clasped together with his right thumb rubbing insistently against the back of his left hand.
“Hey Eddie.” The voice was gentle, soft as it reached his ears. He turned to find his favorite counselor, Cassie, approaching him slowly. She sat down next to him, crossing her own legs in front of her. “Are you alright?”
Eddie could only shake his head, continuing the persistent movement of his thumb.
“Did something happen with another kid?” Cassie spoke to him softly, but not like he was weird or broken like some people did. She was always so nice to him.
“They laughed at me,” Eddie’s voice came out weak and cracked, and he ducked his head down as he spoke. “I don’t get it, it’s like... It’s like everyone got some sort of rulebook about being a kid and I didn’t.”
Cassie just hummed and gave a small nod before turning to face Eddie. She looked down at Eddie rubbing his skin raw with the pad of his thumb before reaching her hands out, palms up, but not touching him.
“Can I hold your hands?”
Eddie thought about it a moment before turning and placing his hands in hers. She smiled and gave a squeeze before speaking,
“Eddie, sometimes, it’s hard not just being a kid, but just being a person. It can be hard to make friends or understand what other people expect of you.”
Eddie nodded at that, fresh tears welling up in his eyes that he kept downcast.
“And it can be really hard for some people,” she continued, “and it can make it feel like the whole world knows something you don’t, and you’re left feeling out of place.”
She reached a careful hand up to brush a wisp of black hair away from his forehead.
“But that just means you see the world differently, y’know?” She never made Eddie make eye contact, but she did wait for him to give a nod of confirmation. “And it makes you special. I know being special isn’t always a good thing, but that doesn’t make you bad or wrong, okay?”
“Okay,” Eddie whispered, squeezing Cassie’s hands softly. “I’m not bad. I’m not…A joke.”
“No, you’re not,” Cassie smiled as she released his hands, “do you want a hug?”
Eddie nodded quickly and threw himself into her lap, squeezing around her middle. When she didn’t squeeze back, he pressed into her even harder. Finally, she wrapped her arms tightly around his little shoulders and squeezed hard, and he smiled. His nerves settled and that prickly feeling under his skin seeped away in her tight embrace. If he tried hard enough, he could believe her. He could believe that he wasn’t wrong, wasn’t broken. He could believe that he would be okay.
Present
To say Eddie was nervous was like, the understatement of the millennia. His lips were bitten raw, and it felt like his thumbs were going to fall off the more and more he rubbed them against the skin of the opposite hands. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it until Buck stopped his pacing to gently pull his hands apart, bringing them up to give a gentle kiss to each thumb.
“Babe, I know that’s a nervous… habit,” Buck stammered, as if rethinking what he was going to say, “but you’re gonna hurt your skin if you keep doing it.”
“Oh,” was all Eddie could say as he looked down at the sensitive red patches of skin on the backs of his hands. Buck kissed the knuckles of each hand before leaning forward and kissing Eddie’s lips, seemingly unbothered by the cracked and broken skin.
“I know this conversation with your parents is scary,” he told him, not releasing his hands, even as they made their way to the kitchen table and sat down, “but remember I’m gonna be right here the whole time.”
Eddie nodded, biting at the frayed skin on his lips as he stared somewhere past Buck’s head. He could do this. Sure, his family had never really been one to talk about health problems, especially mental health, and the idea of asking his parents if anyone had ever mentioned autism was downright terrifying. It felt… Vulnerable. Like he was admitting to some sort of fault. Like he was going against the very core of his family’s beliefs just by suggesting it could be possible. But he could do it.
“Eds,” Buck’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he looked over at his partner, who was nodding at the open laptop in front of them. The Facetime ringtone was blaring out of the speakers and a notification had popped up in the corner, reading ‘Papi – Mobile’. He inhaled slowly and pressed “accept” as he blew the breath out in one go. After a moment, the Facetime app opened and his parents’ faces appeared in the window.
“Eddie!” His mom’s voice rang out before the video connection stabilized and he plastered on a smile that felt fake as he waved at her.
“Hey, Mom,” he tried to sound normal – did he sound normal? – as he greeted them, “hey Papi.”
“Eddie.” His dad nodded at him, “how’s work going? Are you getting back into the swing of things?”
“Yeah, just about,” god he hated small talk, “been back for about a month and a half now.”
“That’s good.” His mom spoke now, “you know, I really don’t like you doing that job, but I know you’re good at it and that’s what matters.”
“Yeah.” Eddie nodded and they lapsed into an awkward silence. He’d texted them about this, about getting on Facetime for a call to “discuss something important”. He’d assured them it was nothing bad or life-threatening, just some things he needed to talk about. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how to start the conversation. How does he ask, “hey, did anyone ever think I was autistic as a kid?” when it’s likely his parents barely had an idea about what autism was in the first place? He looked at Buck pleadingly, his breath becoming shallow.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah,” Buck spoke up, clearing his throat and turning the laptop so it showed he and Eddie both in the camera. “Hi Mr. and Mrs. Diaz.”
“Oh, hi Buck, we didn’t know you were there.” Helena smiled politely and Ramon simply nodded at him. His parents weren’t outright disrespectful toward them, but Buck and Eddie knew they weren’t the most accepting regarding their relationship. Tolerable would be the better word.
“Uhm, Eddie has been in therapy, as you know, and some things have come up,” Buck glanced over at Eddie, who just gave a tiny nod at him to keep going. Normally, he’d have no problem speaking up to his parents, especially about something this important, but he had Buck in his corner now. He had Buck to help him with these hard things and learning to accept help when he needed it was one of the biggest lessons he learned in therapy.
“And, I guess to get right to it,” Buck continued, grabbing Eddie’s hand under the table and threading their fingers together, “did anyone in the past, maybe a doctor or a teacher or something, ever bring up the possibility of Eddie being autistic?”
The silence that followed the question was overwhelming. Helena and Ramon looked at each other in apparent shock before looking back at the camera. Buck squeezed Eddie’s hand, helping to ground him a bit and keep him from panicking. Eddie knew that going against the family’s ideals was always going to be hard (“this is called ‘enmeshment’, Eddie,” Frank had told him), but to see his parents’ stern, calculated looks made him want to either start yelling at them, or take everything back and apologize.
“I don’t know where the hell that crackpot of a therapist got any ideas like that,” Ramon spoke first, straightening in his seat and leaning toward the camera, “but none of my children were ever handicapped like that.”
“Mr. Diaz, autism isn’t-“
“Eddie was smart, he played ball, he had friends,” Ramon cut him off, barreling on with his tangent and counting off on his hand as he spoke, “he wasn’t retarded.”
The men both flinched at the word before Eddie spoke up,
“Dad, you can’t say that word anymore,” he bit the skin just inside his lips now, hoping he wasn’t conveying nervousness, “it’s a slur. And even then, autistic people can be smart and have friends.”
“I’ll say whatever I damn well please,” Ramon snapped, “and no kid of mine was ever retarded, regardless of what the doctor said.”
More silence, though this time it weighed heavy in the air. Eddie felt his heart sink into his gut as he realized what his father had just said. His hand went lax in Buck’s and he deflated in his seat as he stared at the screen in front of him.
“Eddie,” his mother spoke now, must more softly than his dad, “when you were almost two, you weren’t walking yet. We thought something might be wrong, so we took you to a doctor.”
“And what, ignored everything he told you?” Eddie managed to bite out, anger seeping through the… grief? Sadness? He wasn’t sure.
“He said that you had nothing wrong with you physically,” Helena continued, her face contorted into something resembling regret, but he couldn’t be sure over the Facetime call, “but that he thought you might have autism, and we-your father felt that-”
“Felt that he couldn’t have a fucked-up kid so let’s just ignore it?” Eddie could feel the tears coming to his eyes and he tried to will them away. He could cry when they hung up, but not now, not in front of them. “My life was hell, I always felt like something was wrong with me. That I was just a screw-up who didn’t understand anyone.”
“It’s okay, babe.” Buck’s hushed reassurance calmed him down a bit and he took a deep breath in before continuing, “you have no idea how hard things have been for me. How hard I fought to feel like I belonged anywhere.” The words felt rough on his tongue – he’d never spoken them out loud anywhere outside of Frank’s office and, very rarely, in bed to Buck. “I joined the army in large part because at least I knew what they expected of me. I never got that anywhere else, and I always thought it was because of me, because I was wrong somehow.”
“Honey, you’re not screwed up,” Helena tried to comfort him but the sentiment felt hollow, “we tried our best, we did everything we thought was right.”
“Well it wasn’t enough.” With that, Eddie clicked on the red “end call” button and slammed the laptop shut. The resounding silence, this time, was oppressive. The adrenaline of telling his parents off faded as quickly as it came and he sunk into his seat, his head lolling over to land on Buck’s shoulder. It suddenly felt like the world was moving at a million miles an hour and he just really needed it to fucking stop for a second. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, chasing the feeling of oxygen into his mouth, down his throat, into his chest. The outside world started getting further and further away and for a moment, Eddie worried. He wasn’t having a panic attack, but it was definitely something. Buck was saying his name, asking him if he was alright, but he just couldn’t say anything in reply. The words were there, right on his tongue, but he was just so tired. He wanted to do something, nod, say yes, anything, but the idea of doing anything other than breathe at that moment felt like a herculean task and he simply didn’t have it in him to do it. So, he just let his head rest on Buck’s shoulder as he breathed slowly. After a moment he realized there was something soft in his hands and his thumbs had taken to rubbing across the plush material in tandem. It was nice. Soothing. It settled something in Eddie’s skin and for the first time in a while, he felt relaxed.
The thing was, he could still hear and feel everything around him. He heard Buck’s mumbled reassurances, the “I got you Babe, you’re alright, I’m right here”, his arm around his shoulder rubbing gentle circles into his arm, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant sounds of cars on their mostly quiet street. It just felt like he was in a different place. Like he was inside himself while everything else was outside. It wasn’t bad, per se, just different. He remembered then that he would have feelings similar to this in middle school and high school after really hard days. He would lock himself away in his room and just lay on his bed, eyes closed, sometimes he’d put music on and just let himself breathe. It felt nice, like he was getting a chance to reign in all his emotions. By the time he got to the army, he’d learned how to keep things bottled up nice and tight and the feeling never came again. Not until now.
“Can you answer me now, Eds?” Eddie opened his eyes slowly but stayed pressed against Buck’s arm.
“I’m here,” his voice was quiet, rough. “I’m okay.”
“I know,” Buck turned and kissed the top of Eddie’s head, “has that ever happened before?”
“When I was a kid.” Eddie kept rubbing the fabric in his hands, which he realized now was Buck’s hoodie that had been draped across one of the chairs. “Whenever I had a really bad day or something, I would just… Space like that.”
“I don’t think you were spacing, Babe,” Buck turned his head again, and this time Eddie could lift his and meet his gaze, “I think you had something called a shutdown.”
Eddie wanted to ask him about it, learn what it was and how it related to what happened, but he still felt sluggish, half in the world, half out, so he just nodded and leaned into Buck again.
“Tell me about it later.”
Buck laughed softly, “will do.”
***
Surprisingly, Eddie was able to find a psychologist that specialized in adult diagnoses of autism, and she had availability that wasn’t three and half years out like some other places his therapist had recommended. Thanks to this, within two months of Frank even mentioning anything, Eddie was waiting for the results of the five-hour long assessment he’d done over zoom. It had been interesting at first, but quickly got very tedious. He had to answer question after question about things in adulthood and childhood. To be honest, he barely remembered much of his childhood, he mostly remembered snippets of things and how people made him feel as opposed to explicit memories. The psychologist, Wendy, had assured him that he didn’t have to have an eidetic memory for things to be conclusive, and that what he’d provided had been more than sufficient. He was still worried though. He just wanted to have an accurate result.
“Babe, you have an email!” Buck came crashing into the kitchen where Eddie was making lunch, skidding across the floor, and bumping his hip into the counter. He held Eddie’s phone out toward him, the screen alight with a push notification from the Mail app. Eddie had specifically turned on notifications from the psychologist, so there was no mistaking who it was from. He inhaled slowly before opening the email.
Eddie,
Please see attached the report and summary. If you have any questions, feel free to email me.
Eddie glanced over at Buck, who had his arms wrapped around Eddie’s middle and his chin resting on his shoulder. Buck just pressed a kiss to his cheek and silently encouraged him to continue. So, Eddie tapped the attachment and waited for it to load. The first page was headed in bold letters with ‘Letter of Diagnosis’ –
To Whom It May Concern,
Dr. Wendy Mathis completed a comprehensive behavioral assessment for Edmundo Diaz to identify behaviors which meet the diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder (ASD) per the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th edition text-revision. The assessment included history, previous assessments, observations, interviews, clinical judgment, and multiple formal and informal measures.
Diagnostic Impression:
Autism Spectrum Disorder (299.00) (ICD F84.0)
No accompanying intellectual impairment
No accompanying language impairment
Severity Level 1, requiring support
Eddie read the words ‘autism spectrum disorder’ over and over again, letting it sink in. The feelings inside of him warring with each other; both happy and sad, relieved and grieving, angry and excited. The things that he never had a name for, feeling like there was some unspoken agreement on how the world works that he was never made privy to, feeling like his emotions were all at once too much and muted at the same time. The times when he would have shutdowns, where the mere act of speaking would be enough to send him into a crisis, or the times when he would be in a group, and someone would make a joke and he’d laugh along even though it made absolutely no sense. All of it. It had a name.
He wasn’t broken, he wasn’t wrong, he wasn’t just some dumb kid or clueless adult. He was autistic.
But he was angry. Angry at his parents for ignoring the signs that were practically shouting at them that their son was suffering. He was grieving for all the years lost to self-loathing and confusion that if his parents had put away their pride, he could have salvaged. Maybe he could have had a decent childhood had his father not cared so much about images, had his mother stood up for what he knew she believed.
When the warring emotions inside of him calmed down, he turned to Buck, who had been waiting patiently for Eddie to process the information. He dropped the phone on to the counter and grabbed onto Buck’s hands. He stared down at their intertwined fingers and didn’t stop the tears that started to gather in his eyes, instead letting them breach his eyelids and fall down his cheeks.
“Eds, what are you feeling?”
“A lot of things,” he said carefully, his thumbs rubbing against Buck’s skin. He smiled, purposely rubbing in gentle little patterns, finally feeling content in knowing what it was – a stim that helped him regulate his emotions. “But mostly? Relieved. Happy.”
Buck hummed, dropping a kiss to Eddie’s forehead.
“I am too,” he said, his own voice coming out wet, “I’m so proud of you.”
Eddie looked up at him, seeing his bright blue eyes swimming in unshed tears, and his heart felt like it was bursting in his chest for love for the man. He always had his back, he knew that, but the unwavering support that Buck had shown him the past two months was enough to awe even Eddie. He had done all this research about autism so he would be well-versed on anything that may come up, he had come to some therapy appointments with Eddie when he was feeling particularly on edge, and he was never selfish with his love and affirmations when Eddie needed it. He had taught him all about stimming (they’d identified a couple of his go-to’s), about shutdowns and meltdowns, and about sensory difficulties (he was realizing he had a lot of sensory avoidance and some sensory seeking). Buck had also told Eddie about masking, which was essentially what he’d been doing his whole life. It’s why he always kind of felt like a bottle that got shaken and the pressure was there right below the surface, ready to blow. It was why he would find himself seeking out solitude and quiet so often when interacting with people and trying to act like everyone else. He had never been able to actually be himself, actually be autistic. When he was a kid, he was told to stop with the stimming behaviors, told to suck it up and eat his dinner even if the texture made him want to throw up, told to stop crying when the kids at school laughed at him. He learned to keep every single thing that made him himself locked inside – put on a face that was palatable to other people, that stopped people from asking questions or looking at him too weird, that made him presentable and trustworthy in the eyes of his family.
He didn’t have to do that anymore, according to Buck. He could be himself. He could stop talking whenever he wanted, he could stim, he could ask questions when he didn’t understand something, he could eat only the foods that he liked. It would be hard of course, but he didn’t have to pretend anymore.
***
“What about rubbing your hands together?” Buck looked up from his phone at Eddie, who sat on the bunk across from him. It was nearing eleven at night and it was blessedly q-word for the time being, however, Eddie was feeling keyed up from their last call. His normal stim of rubbing his thumbs across things wasn’t cutting it, and he didn’t use the chewelry that Buck had gotten him to curb his lip-biting outside of the house. He felt like his skin was crawling with pent up energy, tingling and yearning for some sort of escape – like restless leg syndrome except his entire body, and his mind too.
“I don’t know,” Eddie sighed and brought his hands together and rubbed them back and forth. First, he went slowly, gradually increasing the speed until he was going fast enough to feel heat gather between his hands. After a moment, with no help, he stopped and let his arms drop to his sides.
“Nothing.” He propped his elbows on his legs and clasped his hands together in front of him tightly before letting out in a harsh whisper, “I think I’m reaching shutdown levels, Cariño, and that’s never happened at work before.”
It had been a few months since his official diagnosis, and he was doing surprisingly well at learning to unmask and really accept his autistic traits that he had suppressed for so long. Despite this though, he hadn’t told anyone outside of Buck, Chris, Carla, and his therapist about this development in his life. He knew his family with the 118 wouldn’t judge him or think any less of him, and that they likely would be just as helpful and accepting as Buck had been. Still, the feelings of pride and shame (“that’s called internalized ableism, Babe. You’ll probably always have to deal with it in some way”) that he carried inside still felt too large, too present. It seemed though that he may be forced to out himself, so to speak, because so far the dozen or so stims they’d tried weren’t working.
“Okay, I think we gotta engage your whole body, and there’s no room in here.” Buck rose with decisive movement, reaching his hand toward Eddie. “We don’t have to explain anything if you don't want to.”
Eddie hesitated before reaching out to take his partner’s hand. He trusted Buck, and if he wasn’t ready to explain anything then he would make sure they wouldn’t have to. He allowed himself to be pulled out into the app bay. He was hyperaware of the people milling about; Hen was at the back of the ambulance going over stock, Jenkins rolling the hoses, Chimney and Ravi washing down the truck following the last call. It had been raining, which was one of the many things that made Eddie’s skin feel prickly. Usually, he would suppress his feelings down deep until he was able to get home and just shutdown. But over the last few months, he’d been learning how to stop doing exactly that. So, there he was, at the front of the app bay, awaiting Buck’s next suggestion while it felt like he had all eyes on him.
“Okay try punching my hands.” Buck dropped his phone into his pocket and placed his hands in front of him, palms out. Eddie raised an eyebrow at him, and he just gestured with his hands, as if to say get on with it. So, he raised his fists and started punching. Softly, at first before getting harder at Buck’s insistence. It helped a little bit, he had to admit. Being able to get more of his body involved, like his shoulders and his core, helped the feeling of restlessness and discomfort start to seep from his bones. It still wasn’t enough though. It felt like he just needed a reset – just something that would flip him off and on like a light switch.
“Wait.” Eddie dropped his hands and Buck followed suit, waiting for Eddie to continue with concern etched in his features. “I think I know what I need. I had this after-school counselor that I liked that would just hug me really tight and spin me around.”
“Oh, like deep pressure stimulation!” Buck nodded excitedly, and Eddie smiled at his enthusiasm.
“Yeah, at first it was just those really tight hugs,” Eddie continued, stepping up to Buck and wrapping his arms around his middle. “Then she started spinning me around and it just like… I don’t know, it made everything get easier.”
Buck wrapped his arms around Eddie, who tucked his head against Buck's shoulder with his face against his neck, locking his hands together at his back before squeezing as tight as he could, “like this?”
“Perfect.” His voice came out a whisper, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. Not at the people who were surely watching them now, or the idea of them asking questions later, but at the sudden release of emotions. All the tension was already melting away, and Buck hadn’t even started spinning them yet.
At that moment, Eddie felt his feet leave the ground and then they were moving. The wind whipped by his ear as they spun, accompanied by Buck’s gleeful giggling. Eddie let out a wet laugh, holding on tightly as the movement settled over his skin in what he could only describe as contentment. After a moment, his feet made contact with the floor again, but he still held on to Buck.
“You good?” The question was only for him, whispered quietly into his ear. He just nodded, planting a chaste kiss to the side of Buck’s jaw before releasing himself from his hold.
“You wanna tell us what that was about?” Hen’s question filtered through their bubble, both men turning to face the paramedic that wore a bemused expression, her eyebrows knit together and a grin pulling at her lips. Eddie and Buck shared a glance and again, Eddie nodded. He knew it was time he told his family about this change in his life. If nothing else, he would be able to start unmasking at home and at work, and god wouldn’t that be nice.
Twenty minutes later, he and Buck have gathered Bobby, Chim, Hen, and Ravi in the loft. He would have got all of A shift, but he figured he’d start with his most inner circle first and go from there. The six of them had taken to the dining table, with the latter four angling in their seats to face Eddie and Buck.
“Okay, we’ve waited long enough,” Chim spoke up first, obviously intrigued by this mysterious meeting. “What’s going on?”
“Well,” Eddie looked over at Buck, who squeezed his hand in support and nodded at him to go on, “I did some testing a few months ago and received a diagnosis,” he paused, inhaling briefly before continuing, “of autism.”
There was silence for about 0.3 seconds before the table broke out in chatter, everyone around them smiling and asking him about a million questions.
“What made you get tested?”
“Why now and not when you were a kid?”
“This is a good thing, right?”
“Okay, whoa,” Eddie held his hands up to slow their barrage of questioning, though he was smiling, “they thought I was autistic as a kid, but my parents didn’t tell me, I got tested because my therapist suggested it and yes, Ravi, this is a really good thing.”
He looked over at Buck and smiled, feeling himself warm at the sight of his proud grin.
“I finally know why I do a lot of things I do,” Eddie looked back at the team, “and when I get overstimulated, I need things that help regulate my emotions and stuff – that’s what Buck and I were doing downstairs.”
“I’m really happy for you, Eddie,” Hen reached a hand over from her place beside him to give his shoulder a squeeze, “I know it must be a relief to have some answers.”
“It’s something.”
“I, for one, am not really surprised to be honest.”
Eddie snapped his head over to Chimney, bewildered. How could he possibly have had any idea that he was autistic? No one else in his adult life had ever given any indication except his therapist and his live-in partner.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He sputtered out while Buck chuckled beside him.
“Look, all I’m saying,” Chim leaned forward on his arms, “is you always wear the exact same clothes just in different colors. Sounds pretty autistic to me.”
Buck burst out laughing at that – full-on belly laughing, his eyes crinkling with his wide smile. Eddie shoved him playfully, muttering a “shut up” before turning his faux-angry glare on Chimney.
“So what, I like certain clothing brands.” He shrugged, but Chimney wagged his finger before rebutting, “you also like getting to work exactly ten minutes before shift start every single day.”
“What? Being punctual is part of my autism?” Eddie couldn’t help the grin overtaking his own face now at the ribbing.
“Babe, you’ve made us wait in the truck before until exactly ten minutes ‘til,” Buck poked at him this time, earning himself another shove.
“Oh, he does that thing with his thumbs too! I’ve noticed when he’s stressed, that’s part of it too, right? What’s it called?”
“A stim.”
“Oh yeah!”
Eddie leaned back in his seat and smiled now, keeping one hand interlaced with Buck’s and the other lightly gripping the end of his sleeve, thumb rubbing the fabric gently. He let his team’s -his family’s- banter wash over him and he felt at peace. He told them this scary thing, this thing that despite answering all of his questions still made him feel vulnerable sometimes, and they had simply met him with the same love and kindness (and jokes) that they always did. He honestly wasn’t sure what he was even worried about to begin with now, he just knew that it was getting easier and easier to stop pretending and be himself.
Now maybe he could finally graduate from therapy.