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Homonymous hemianopsia is a condition in which a person sees only a portion of their visual field on one side—right or left—or perhaps nothing at all in that direction. The person may not be aware that their visual loss involves both eyes. However, the eyes themselves are not at fault; the problem relates to a lesion in the visual cortex of the brain that impairs the brain’s ability to process the images transmitted by the eyes. In time, we learned that Matt had a large pie-shaped deficit in his right peripheral vision, along with several other visual impairments.
We had sensed early on that Matt couldn’t see well, but he was unable to tell us or participate in an eye examination or corrective exercises. Unlike with physical impairments, which allow therapists to demonstrate a task and observe compliance, treating visual deficits has different constraints. For example, how do you perform a standard eye test when the individual has limited ability to recognize letters on an eye chart, struggles to verbalize what he sees, and can’t identify which of the two corrective lenses, 1 or 2, is better?
We sought out an optometrist who specializes in managing neurologically related visual impairments, and we knew just the right person. Over the years, Mike and I had crossed paths professionally with Dr. Howard Kushner. Approximately half of his patients struggle with the aftermath of a TBI. His practice, Integrative Vision Therapy, offers a comprehensive program tailored to individuals like Matt.
They first met on September 29, 2018, 3 weeks after Matt moved home. Several years later, Dr. Kushner would share these recollections.
“When I first met Matthew, he could only communicate with yes or no. He was having difficulty reading. Matthew presented with a right homonymous hemianopsia. This severely impacted many aspects of his basic daily living and ambulation, making it difficult to navigate safely. In addition, Matthew had convergence insufficiency, which is difficulty crossing the eyes inward as is needed when doing close work tasks. This also makes it difficult to read, either causing double vision or fatigue from the effort required to overcome it. His prognosis was guarded.”
Dr. Kushner was very creative in identifying visual symbols that Matt was able to recognize in order to perform a rudimentary eye exam. For example, he held three fingers up sideways to resemble a capital E and had Matt point in which direction the letter was pointing. He asked Matt to follow a moving object from side to side or as it moved towards (convergence) and away from his nose (divergence). Preliminary findings highlighted limited right peripheral vision and poor eye convergence.
As time progressed, more problems came to light. Fortunately, Mike has specialized training in vision therapy, which proved instrumental in addressing this aspect of Matt's recovery. He helped me understand the significance of four issues that compromised the ability of his eyes to work together. For example, strabismus, an abnormal alignment of the eyes, caused Matt’s right eye to deviate to the right. In addition, his eyes often overshot a target, a function known as smooth pursuit, and rapid, jerky eye movements known as saccadic movements impeded his ability to focus on a target quickly. These issues, combined with his convergence insufficiency, led to a profound lack of spatial awareness—the ability to understand his body's position in relation to his surroundings.
The doctor prescribed prism-containing glasses to enhance his vision. Their effect was subtle because Matt couldn’t notice any difference. We signed Matt up for weekly vision therapy in the clinic. This was on top of our already hectic schedule of OT, PT, and Speech Therapy, and in all scenarios, using the wheelchair exponentially increased the time required.
Dr. Kushner kept Matt busy during their sessions together and often engaged me in the process, particularly when it involved standing versus sitting for safety. At various times, Matt was given a pair of glasses with one green lens and one red lens—I have no idea why. Wearing them, Matt had to scan up and down, and side to side to locate corresponding numbers, alternating his gaze between a randomly numbered paper on a wall and dice scattered on the table.
More appealing to Matt were the virtual games displayed on a mammoth wall-mounted LED screen. The most straightforward task was to use either index finger to tap as many blue dots on the display as possible within the allotted time; of course, he frequently neglected to use his right hand. The more demanding task involved a central letter that intermittently blinked, surrounded by blue dots. Matt was instructed to delete dots as fast as he could, but he had to tap the center letter whenever it blinked before he could continue. It was easy for him to get caught up eliminating dots and forget all about that bad boy in the middle.
The end of each visit focused on presenting and practicing the next round of home exercises. To optimize recovery, 20-30 minutes of daily home exercises was the requested intensity. We always left with two to three new sets of instructions to add to our growing collection.
Convergence training at home involved a string with three to five colored beads, spaced at different intervals (Brock String). Matt held one end to his nose, and someone else had the opposite end three to four feet away. He was asked to look from one colored bead to another while maintaining awareness of the position of the string and other beads.
For spatial awareness, Matt pointed and touched objects in front of him with his hands. He also practiced a beanbag toss, sitting or standing, using buckets as targets. This simple task challenged his physical balance, spatial awareness, and vision all at once. Standing independently and throwing beanbags into buckets six to seven feet away was particularly difficult given his poor balance. While one-handed throws weren't too bad, he consistently missed the bucket on the right when throwing with both hands simultaneously. We couldn't resist groaning and laughing, especially when a bean bag barely made it halfway or missed a bucket by a mile. Engaging in therapy outside on the deck, such as this activity, offered a welcome change and a breath of fresh air.
To retrain smooth pursuit and saccadic movement, Popsicle sticks with a letter or number written at the top were used. In the first case, without moving his head, Matt moved a single stick side to side, up and down, diagonally, or in a circular pattern, and followed it with his eyes. For the next phase, Matt held two Popsicle sticks at arm’s length and moved his eyes as instructed in similar patterns. His right eye often lagged behind his left, or went completely rogue.
To expand his right peripheral visual field, Matt had to focus on an object straight ahead while Mike tossed a beanbag from either the right or left side. Matt was supposed to catch it as it flew by. He'd deny it, but he often cheated by trying to catch a quick peek. If it had been a betting game, I would have wagered on a high percentage of missed catches when the beanbag was tossed from the right.
After a three-and-a-half-year span, and four or five rounds of treatments, we parted ways. Dr. Kushner shared his final reflections on Matt's journey with profound insight. “As much as Matthew must have been frustrated, he has an incredible work ethic and sense of humor. He was all too happy to play tricks on me! His parents moved mountains to get him the help he needed and pushed him to move forward. They worked incredibly well as a team. The amount of progress that Matthew has made has been astounding. He no longer has Convergence Insufficiency. His field loss persists; however, it is smaller. It’s more of a quadrant anopsia rather than a hemianopsia. He has learned to compensate for it by moving his head to be more aware of his surroundings. Matthew really has beaten the odds.”
“Guarded prognosis? Boy, was I wrong. His prognosis is limitless.”
© 2025, Sarah Watkins