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I’ve been a pediatric nurse for twenty-three years, and I’ve never seen anything like what happened in our waiting room that Tuesday morning.
My six-year-old son Marcus was having the worst meltdown of his life. He was on the floor screaming, hitting his head against the tile, and I couldn’t reach him.
That’s when the biker walked in.
Marcus has severe autism. Mostly nonverbal. When he gets overwhelmed, he shuts down completely. That morning, his regular aide called in sick. I had no choice but to bring him to work with me at the clinic.
Everything was fine for the first hour. Marcus sat in the break room with his iPad and his weighted blanket. Then the fire alarm went off for a drill I’d forgotten about.
The sound broke something in him.
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