I don't really know why I wrote this chapter. I'm not the biggest fan of it, but I do hope it moves the overall story along. I hope you're enjoying it. Thank you again for your support and your acceptance of those of us who are neurodiverse. Your desire to learn more drives the world to a kinder place.


Shaun quickly stepped into Dr. Glassman's office, hurriedly looking for his packet of papers that included his essay which he needed to bring to his class. He knew he just had it. Where could it be? Ok what happened. He'd been working on it on his computer in his room last night. Finished around 2:13am. Slipped out of his room and into Dr. Glassman's empty office to use the printer quietly. He printed it, thought he heard Dr. Glassman's door opening down the hallway, threw all the lights out, grabbed his computer and papers and hurried out of the office and into his bedroom so as not to cause any more disturbance. That meant his paper had to be here, right? He shuffled through some of the folders on the big desk. Maybe he dropped it somewhere into a drawer by accident. "Shaun, let's go, you don't need whatever it is you're looking for." Dr. Glassman's voice said from the front door. They were supposed to be leaving for school. But Shaun needed this paper—his lab group was going to be doing their one-hundred point final presentation in class today, and he was expected to participate or else he would get a zero. His teacher made that clear. Everything he'd typed up the night before and had printed (and now ultimately lost) was bullet points to help guide him along his speech. Without it… oh god, he might get tripped up and caught on a sentence that would make him lose his train of thought and everyone would be staring and his teacher would get angry and certainly give him a zero—

"Shaun, hurry up!" Dr. Glassman encouraged. Shaun opened the second drawer of the desk. Maybe it got stashed away in here while he was throwing things into order? Shaun rummaged through. No, this was just all old but important mail to Dr. Glassman. Letters about patient referrals, office vaccine invoices…wait…what was this letter? Shaun stopped searching and gave the header a scan. San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital. San Jose…Shaun had never heard of such a place. His curiosity kept him reading forward. "Dear Dr. Aaron Glassman," it began in an important-looking font.

"On behalf of the surgery department and board of directors at San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital, we formally invite you to attend an interview with us to discuss the potential opportunities you be provided with if you join our team of surgeons. Your excellence in neurosurgery has caught the attention of Dr. Thomas Buechet and Dr. Ivana Mechenko, our dual Chiefs of Surgery in Neuroscience. The amount of research you have contributed to the advancement of our field is extraordinary. Your impact upon your community has been immense and noted by many public health officials and those within your own hospital system. If you are interested in attending a meeting with us, we can promise you that you will not leave disappointed. You have given so much to your patients, your colleagues, and the field of medicine—we would be honored if you would allow us to give back to you."

Shaun stopped reading. There were two more paragraphs but he couldn't make his eyes look at them. Why was some random hospital sending Dr. Glassman a letter, basically offering him a good job and title? Why did the header have the address of this hospital listed in San Jose California? And most importantly, why did Dr. Glassman stow this letter away in his "important mail" drawer? Shaun's hands began to shake. He'd saved it for a reason. It was saved. It must have been important to him. But why? Dr. Glassman had a happy life and worked in a good practice here in Wyoming. What could California have that would make it better? And worse yet—Shaun was going to school in Wyoming so that he could still live in the same place and not have to adjust to a new home—what would happen if Dr. Glassman wasn't around to share it with him?

Shaun felt his chest tighten. Nervously, he closed the drawer and dashed out of the office, mumbling to Dr. Glassman that he found his paper and was ready to go to school. He kept his face turned towards the window so that he wouldn't have to meet the eyes of the man who he thought was going to always be there for him.

That night, Shaun sat on his bed and flipped through a few pages of the medical textbook on reading EKGs. He traced the pattern of a bradycardiac heartbeat with his finger. Up…down…straight…down down down…up up up…straight…up…down. His mind couldn't stop thinking about the letter Dr. Glassman had saved. How come he'd never mentioned a word about it to Shaun? Was it a secret? California? He heard a soft tap on his open door. Dr. Glassman stood there, a gentle smile on his face. He put his hands in his pockets and stepped into the room. "It's time for lights out," he said softly, as he did every night. Of course Shaun obeyed, but with his racing mind and difficulty sleeping, he often continued to stay up and either work on his schoolwork or read. But tonight Shaun didn't feel right. He felt nervous, empty, suspicious. Dr. Glassman approached the bed, setting a hand on Shaun's shoulder and gently pulling him in for the usual half-hug, lips to the top of the head sort of goodnight parting. "Sleep well, get some rest." he encouraged. Shaun gave the doctor's hand a pat. He knew the routine—when Dr. Glassman said his goodnights, he was supposed to get under the covers, lie down, and prove that he was at least attempting to go to bed. Tonight would be hard. His mind was just off to the races.

It took Shaun hours to find a comfortable enough position to stay still in his bed. Everything about that letter bothered him and he couldn't let it go. Dr. Glassman is going to leave. Dr. Glassman is going to leave. And then what would happen? Loneliness. Homelessness. He'd have to go back and live in the bus. Where else could he go? How was he going to go to college and become a doctor if he didn't have a home? Who was going to take care of him? Shaun felt tears building up in his eyes and throat. He could almost feel his heart breaking down the middle. No, that's silly. The human heart couldn't split down the middle. Not without the help of a ten-blade and a careful cardiothoracic surgeon. But why then did this feel so…painful?

The next morning, Dr. Glassman awoke to a beeping alarm clock, which he made sure to silence right away—he never wanted to run the risk of Shaun getting woken up by it in the other room. Yawning, he sat up, reached for his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He turned on the dimmed lamp on the bedside table and nearly had a heart attack.

In the middle of the bedroom floor was a pile of blankets, moving.

Wait, not just blankets, a pillow too. And messy brown hair. Dr. Glassman rubbed his eyes again. Shaun? What in the hell was the boy doing sleeping on the floor in his room? Was he alright? As if to answer his silent question, Shaun turned over in his sleep and let out a soft breath. Dr. Glassman wasn't sure what the best course of action was—let Shaun stay there because he was obviously finally sleeping, or move him back to his own bed and potentially risk waking him up for the rest of the day? In order to make a decision, he would've liked to know what brought Shaun in initially. Such an odd boy. What on earth could be making Shaun want to sleep on the floor?

Though when Dr. Glassman asked Shaun that morning at breakfast, the boy didn't give an answer. Not at all. And any time the subject came up it was the same reaction. Dr. Glassman realized he was getting nowhere so he dropped it. Perhaps Shaun just had a bad dream and didn't quite feel comfortable being alone. However, it happened again that night. And the next night. And then the next night. Every morning, Dr. Glassman was waking to finding Shaun buried under a blanket on his bedroom floor even though he'd started off in his own room, his own bed. Probing questions continued to lead nowhere. Did Shaun even know he was doing this?

Dr. Glassman walked out of the elevator in the hospital, having just departed his office one Friday afternoon. He was setting out to pick up a stat patient referral from the pediatrics department. It wasn't every day that he got the chance to treat a ten year old girl with dystonia. Thankfully, he'd established good connections with pediatrics ever since he brought Shaun to the ER with appendicitis a few years ago. The doctor they met there agreed to take him on as her patient since they worked well together. Dr. Steiner was great with Shaun. He went for his yearly checkups and she always let him leave with a new book to read, or a new set of infectious disease pamphlets, or anything she could really scare up from around the hospital. Dr. Glassman knocked on the open door to her office upon arrival. She looked up from her desk and smiled. "Thanks for swinging by," she said as rose and handed him a folder full of papers. Dr. Glassman reciprocated a hello and inquired about the new patient's condition.

"Sudden onset," Dr. Steiner informed. "She was fine one day and suddenly mom is rushing her into the ER thinking she was having a seizure."

"At ten years old that…hey…are these her MRIs and EEGs? How do you already have these back from imaging? I send them stuff and they don't give me my results for days."

"I'm dating the radiologist." Dr. Steiner winked.

"Well treat him nicely. It's always good to have a friend in radiology."

"Hey speaking of friends, how's Shaun been doing lately? He's going to need his checkup pretty soon."

"Shaun's doing well. Outstanding grades, improving social skills…doing really…he's great." Dr. Glassman sighed and looked down at the desk.

"Is something wrong, Aaron?"

"It's just…I can't believe he's going to college. He's not even my own kid and…I just can't believe he grew up so fast."

"Yeah, that tends to happen. He doesn't have to be your own. You still raised him. You were his parent in the most crucial years of his life."

"…He's been weird lately. I don't know why but…he's been leaving his own bed in the middle of the night, coming into my room, and sleeping on my floor. Every night. Of course when you ask him about it, you get the usual no response."

"Is he eating normally?"

"Psh. Shaun eats like a bird anyway. Really the only thing that's changed is this new behavior."

"…It sounds almost like he's going through some separation anxiety. Has anything changed at home?"

"Nothing's changed in my home for the four entire years he's been here."

"…Did you tell him about St. Bonaventure?"

Dr. Glassman furrowed his brow. "No, not at all. I couldn't ever explain that one to him." Dr. Steiner had originally come from St. Bonaventure Hospital in San Jose. She was the one who talked about it casually with Dr. Glassman. Recently, he'd been putting an idea together for outreach to the homeless community—to provide them healthcare and treatment that they otherwise wouldn't be able to receive. Of course, this all came from the conditions he found Shaun living in as a young boy. Just days after coming to live with Dr. Glassman, Shaun was immediately diagnosed with bronchitis, paronychia of his left ring finger, a rash from a tickbite on his thigh, and infected blister on his foot where his shoe had been rubbing against his growing feet. All because he and Steve had no way of accessing any medical care. They were just boys—how could they seek out (much less afford) medical attention for their ailments when they didn't even have a place to live? So Dr. Glassman outlined a project. And when Dr. Steiner met Shaun, heard his story, and could relate it to many of the children and families she saw living in poverty, she encouraged him strongly to begin an outreach program. She also encouraged him to diversify the plan and implement it in a large city where even more people were affected by homelessness. Getting in contact with her former colleagues at San Jose, she introduced them to Dr. Glassman. With his surgical experience, excellent patient care, and progressive ideas related to expanding healthcare to the population, they immediately took interest and encouraged him to come join their team of doctors in the hospital. Neurosurgeons were not always easy to come by. And Dr. Glassman had years of experience.

He shook his head again. "He wouldn't know about that. I never told him, not even once. And I haven't even made any decisions. They sent me an invitation to meet with them but I'd rather not give an answer until I'm sure I want to move forward with joining them." he explained with a sigh. Dr. Steiner bit her lip and closed her eyes. "They sent you a letter." she repeated. He nodded his head. Sadly, she smiled at Dr. Glassman. "I can almost guarantee you Shaun saw that letter somehow. He's scared, Aaron. He doesn't understand that you may not even be going there. To him, his entire world right now is shifting. He's going to college. He's going to live with you at home. But now suddenly he's afraid that 'home with you' might be a lot farther away than he was expecting." Dr. Glassman processed this. Could Shaun have seen the invitation? Would it really have produced such a strong effect on him? Dr. Steiner continued. "You're all he has, Aaron. All he's really ever had. He relies on you—you're his world. He'll never admit that but my god you're his hero! The thought of losing you has got to be just…just devastating to a young kid." Dr. Glassman cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit emotional. Dr. Steiner sensed it. "Be open with him. Up front. Explain it calmly and while doing something relaxing. Let Shaun know that he can still trust you." she encouraged softly.

Later that same night, Shaun sat on his bed like normal, this time reading a chapter about pancreatitis. He heard a knock fall against his open door. Dr. Glassman entered, carrying two mugs full of hot chocolate. He held one out to Shaun, who cautiously took it but reminded him, "No eating or drinking in the bedroom," Dr. Glassman gave a small smile. "We can break the rules every now and again." he assured. He reached over and closed Shaun's book for him as he seated himself on the bed. Shaun took a sip of his hot chocolate even though his hear was racing. This wasn't the usual bedtime routine. Dr. Glassman gave him a gentle smile. Sometimes when he looked into those rainstorm-colored eyes, he saw the tiny, shivering boy wearing clothes that hung off of him, clutching a rabbit close to his chest. Was he doing the right thing? Shaun was still so mentally young. An intellectual genius, but a child inside. "Shaun I want to talk to you about…" he began. Tears formed in Shaun's eyes, which he tried to blink away. "I want to talk to you about the near future." Dr. Glassman continued.