Our vision therapy experience so far… on littlefoureyes.com

Just a note to say that if you are interested in how our first two weeks of vision therapy have gone, you can get the details over at littlefoureyes.com. I just wrote a post about how we wound up doing vision therapy at such a young age (24 months old), and the benefits and challenges seen so far.

In short, office visits go well, but I’m having immense difficultly getting any home-based vision therapy accomplished. They tell me this is normal for her age, and that as with the glasses and patch it simply takes time to get into an accepted routine, but it’s absolutely maddening. In desperation, I spent $60 today on toys that mimic the activities we do at the vision therapy office. Should’ve just put the money in a blender and commanded her try to reassemble the bills. Would’ve had the same level of success.

As usual I’m trying to stay positive. I know I can be more creative in figuring out new “eye games”–without breaking the bank. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll have her (with her patch on, of course) send toothpicks through the holes in our strainer! Any bets on how long that activity will last? If I can keep it going for one minute, I’ll consider it an enormous victory. Meanwhile her fancy wooden Click Clack Tree is a gorgeous living room accent and conversation piece, when she’s not putting the ladybug balls directly in the landing spot at the bottom. Why bother watching them cascade (with excellent eye tracking, like the kid below) when you can cut to the chase? Honestly, though, she does like this toy and the small colorful blocks I bought for her to stack, and I’m still holding out hope that she’ll get some real use of out them. I scatter the ladybug balls through out the room and challenge her to find a specific color, and put it in the ramp, one at a time. She just doesn’t quite want to follow my specific instructions. Go figure!

To be continued…

Random Observations, because I’m trying to post more often

Once in a while, Stella calls me “Amber.” Deeply disturbing yet hilarious. Though, it totally sounds like she’s imitating Cody. She’ll be in the computer room yelling, “Amber! Amberrrr! I can’t HEAR you! AMBER!?” Yep, sounds familiar.

We finally programmed her obnoxiously chipper, stuffed pal Scout to say “Stella” and her favorite color (green), food (ice cream) and animal (currently, penguin). You should’ve seen Stella’s face when she heard him speak her name for the first time. In the ensuing days, they’ve grown a lot closer. Stella’s all, “Finally I’m getting something BACK in this relationship!” But seriously, it doesn’t get much better than this. The toy now inserts her name and the aforementioned key words into songs–with superb awkwardness. If he’s singing about his “favorites,” for example, and it’s time to mention “green,” the twinkly boppy electronic music totally halts, a few milliseconds of silence ensue, then you hear the word in a slightly different tone than Scout typically employs, followed by a touch more silence, and finally the song resumes as if nothing happened. To me, comedy gold. To Stella, validation of a friendship that for so long seemed one-sided.

Is it me or does Mad Men induce heavier drinking than usual? I’ve been indulging in proper cocktails lately. A couple per night for the last few days–mainly good margaritas including only freshly squeezed lime juice, 100% agave tequila, and Cointreau. Oh all right, I’ll admit I had four on Saturday night (two glasses of wine and two very strong margaritas to be exact). During that same span we’ve been watching one episode of Mad Men, the best show ever, per evening. It’s not working out. Don and company make it seem so effortless and normal–hard alcohol on the rocks is clearly a natural extension of any meal, meeting, or fleeting frustration. Well, even my low (by comparison) level of imbibing doesn’t seem to mix well with my anti-depressants or early toddler wake-up calls. So tonight I’m drinking chamomile while watching Mad Men. After I finish this lovely glass of rose.

As you can see in my twitter stream, I kind of told “STFU, Parents” (“one of the 33 tumblrs you NEED to watch” according to The Huffington Post) to STFU. Because of this. And by the way, “STFU, Parents” defensively tweeted back! Now, normally I think that the funny person behind this site does a pretty great job of picking the most wildly inappropriate, over-sharing parents’ Facebook posts to skewer (such as pictures of poo, complaints about restaurants not putting up with their children poking other customers with straws and other horrible behavior, placenta-related horrors, and so much more). I’ve shared the site on my Facebook page and converted others–I embraced it! “STFU, Parents” reminded me to keep my own online “sharing” in check, and I usually clicked away feeling pretty damned good about my own parenting, as in, “Well, at least I’m not that idiotic. I don’t change Stella’s diapers on top of restaurant tables, and I don’t purposefully run over people’s feet with our stroller, so I’m fantastic!” But then, in my opinion, the site’s author/editor totally misinterpreted an innocent comment from a well-meaning and most likely very hardworking mom, and it highlighted the dark side of that site. I mean, you can see it everyday in the comment section–some people just hate kids, hate parents, hate, hate, hate! They take the worst of the worst parental examples and treat them as representative of all of us. (Did I mention they loath us?) The site and its rabid followers held this woman in utter contempt–someone who was really only saying, “Yes! I’d love to be as productive as these amazing individuals. Then again, I am taking care of little kids at this point in my life, unlike those folks, so I’m going to cut myself some slack.” The site and its commenters jumped to a much different interpretation: “This person thinks that the world’s smartest and most accomplished people are of no value because they weren’t PARENTS!!!” How they got there, I’ll never know. As they say in advertising, it’s a long walk. I’m wondering if “STFU, Parents” isn’t more than an angry mob. Less fun, and more fodder for parental hate, when all the parents I know are working their asses off for their families (inside and outside of the home), sacrificing and worrying like crazy, and doing their best to raise wonderful kids who keep their straws to themselves. It all reminds me of a giant sticker Stella received from a blues singer, who took a liking to her as he performed on the sidewalk in front of the original Starbucks in Pike Place Market. It reads, “Ain’t no time for hate.” True. Ain’t no time for twittering about stupid bullshit either.

Remember how in a recent, sad post I admitted to examining hundreds of photos of Stella to see if the little white reflections of flash in her eyes were symmetrically placed so as to indicate alignment of the eyes? Well, I realized today that in the photo that was mercilessly cropped in order to fit in the header of this very blog, the tiny bright spots are in slightly different places within each pupil. This may be meaningless. Or it may mean that her eyes were misaligned, though maybe just ever so slightly, all along (least since six months of age, at least). And the enigmatic nature of Stella’s vision problem deepens! My brain is currently yelling, “Amber! Amberrrrr! It’s time to watch Mad Men. Where’s the tequila? Where is it? I can’t hear you! Amber?!”

This isn’t healthy.

I should’ve been asleep an hour ago. Instead of taking care of myself, I spent a bunch of this Friday evening, when Cody and I are supposed to be relaxing and celebrating our wedding anniversary, scouring photos of Stella from the time before her patch, and shots from more recent times. You see, I read somewhere that the little white reflection of the camera’s flash that appears in each eye have identical placement if the eyes are aligned. If the eyes are not aligned, those little bright spots won’t appear in symmetrical fashion. Thus my mission tonight has been to use photographic evidence to determine precisely when her brain started to favor her right eye–or prove that perhaps it never did. Just writing that sentence made my brain deflate like an impaled beach ball.

Underneath it all, I’m scared. During Stella’s feeding aversion and tube days, mistakes were made at Seattle Children’s Hospital. Even before we got there, I had to fight like hell and come to the brink of a nervous breakdown before anyone would help us. I’m terrified that Stella’s vision, and all the many, varied areas of her life that it affects, will suffer greatly if I don’t catch the missteps that seem sure to happen, if they haven’t already. I fear that without my total vigilance, pertinent information will fall through the cracks, bringing her eyesight and quality of life along with it.

Questions about amblyopia, stereovision, and all the other details pertaining to Stella’s eye issues poke at my brain and wrench my heart. I feel helpless because we’re taking steps to address a complex problem I don’t fully understand. I don’t feel confident. I’m not able to trust doctors so easily anymore. Even really good ones like Stella’s current developmental ophthalmologist. Maybe I’m a pain in the ass. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I shouldn’t question everything.

But I just can’t help it. My love for Stella–it’s so big it makes me clumsy sometimes. Hopefully, I can find the strength to achieve better balance. On one hand there is a relatively objective quest for truly excellent care and solutions based on accurate testing and conclusions, the latest research and best practices from around the world. On the other, a ferocious protectiveness that emerges out of not only my vast love for her, but old trauma and new fears.

Sadly, our past experience taught me that at the end of the appointment-filled day, it’s all on my shoulders. If I’m lucky, there will be supportive voice or two, but no one who can help Stella without me there to champion her cause. No, I was taught that Stella’s outcome can’t be left for others to devise. Can’t be put in the hands of those who don’t see the nuances of her day-to-day visual reality, those who see Stella as another patient or chart and not the owner of the cutest toes ever to touch the surface of this planet.

I’m her mom. I look into her big eyes, the color of blue ocean made softer by partly cloudy skies, a hundred times a day to tell her “no screaming!” “good job!”, “you did it!”, “take turns!” and most often, “I love you!” I’m having a hard time letting go. I’ll never be an expert or an ophthalmologist, but I need more answers and education about Stella’s particular situation. Is it too much to ask to get a solid understanding? I don’t think so. I hope I can go about getting it in a way that builds bridges rather than creates tension with the wonderful people who can help my sweet Stella. And surely after that, with some work, I can let go and simply follow the path laid out for us. Not viewed through a lens of fear, but simply a watchful, hopeful, and much less exhausted eye.

P.S. Today, Stella and I did a good job with our daily home vision therapy exercises. We even had fun. I got an email from the vision therapist in response to my questions that was kind, helpful and with promise of more answers to come from the doctor.

Rough patch

This is a rather tedious post. But I can’t help it. Understanding Stella’s visual issues involves a level detail that hurts my head. I have to give each individual brain cell a pep talk before attempting to absorb anything.

Tomorrow, we will attend Stella’s first session of vision therapy. I am nervous, excited and hopeful. At the same time, I’m confused and scared, because I suspect Stella’s eyes are getting worse. She’s been taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes a lot more lately. It’s harder and harder to get her to wear the patch (Magic Tape over her glasses’ right lens, so as to make her weaker left eye work harder and get stronger). I think her eyes crossed today while I was changing her diaper–and her glasses were on. Not good. I wonder if her prescription needs to go up. A very optimistic part of me that rarely sees the light of day (for good reason, probably) wonders if the prescription might need to go down, but that makes little to no sense. I wonder if patching is somehow making things worse, namely by weakening her strong eye. Something is OFF right now. I can just tell. I don’t feel so sure that we’re on the right track anymore. I thought I had this pretty much figured out, but not anymore. I’m terrible at dealing with uncertainty. But nothing is ever certain, is it? Sucks to be me.

The specifics about Stella’s vision issues are still annoyingly hazy to me, which I can barely stand. I’ve been trying to read studies but have a hard time making sense of them nevermind applying them to Stella’s unique visual situation (which again, I don’t fully understand, so how to know what research applies to her?). I’ve emailed her doctor, only to get brief, confusing replies that include attempts at reassurance without any real clarity. It’s frustrating as hell. There are conflicts between what different doctors have told us and I’ve never been able to fully reconcile it all. I have so many nagging questions–some are specific with answers that exist but are currently just out of reach, and some are broad and probably unanswerable:

If her good eye is being covered for three hours a day, could its vision be suffering? She’s been rubbing it.

If her weak eye is improving due to patching, shouldn’t her glasses prescription adjust sooner rather than months later at her foll0w-up appointment?

Since she is not wearing her glasses or patch as well and seems to be having more trouble with her eyes, do we need to schedule another exam?

How do her conditions of farsightedness, strabismus (accommodative esotropia in her case) and anisometropia (unequal refractive power) play off each other or cause each other? I want to understand the relationship between all these terms, and why her brain is tuning out one eye. I don’t quite get it.

Does Stella have full-on ambylopia or is she just headed toward it?

Why, after she started wearing specs, did Stella’s brain start to favor her strong eye if the glasses supposedly accounted for and corrected her vision in both eyes, with extra correction for the weak eye? Shouldn’t glasses have prevented this?

Why didn’t Seattle Children’s Hospital even mention vision therapy?

How did the ophthalmologist at Children’s Hospital know that her weaker eye was “starting to be tuned out by her brain”? All they had Stella do, in order to determine this, was look at giant gray cards with teeny, tiny holes in them. They did her strong eye first, several times with several cards, then her weak eye. What if by the end of this boring exercise, she just stopped paying attention, being not quite two years old at that time? They said there was a “one card difference” between her eyes. What on earth does this actually mean?

Does Stella have 3D vision or not (one office seemed to think so, another didn’t)?

If much of binocular vision is established by age two, though it can be corrected later, shouldn’t she have pretty good vision since her issues didn’t start until around 18 months and the crossing has been very rare (“intermittent”)?

Or, are her eyes crossing slightly all the time and I just don’t notice it? Current doctor says yes, her eyes probably are crossing and I just don’t notice. This made me sad and almost drove me insane. I didn’t think this was true, based on what the doctor at Seattle Children’s told me.

Relatedly, why the F is she wearing glasses if they’re not preventing crossing and her weak eye is getting worse anyway?

What exactly will vision therapy fix?

Are my hopes too high (for vision therapy)? They are very, very high. I can’t help it. (For those that have been following Stella’s journey for a while now: Vision therapy is the new Graz.)

Are my worries too big (again)? They are growing all the time.

It just never ends, does it?

Because we just can’t get enough therapy.

It’s official. Today, I scheduled Stella for weekly, ongoing vision therapy. I feel victorious! As in, “We’re going to the Super Bowl, baby!” (I probably need to get out more.) You see, our second opinion (the first being Seattle Children’s Hospital, where vision therapy was never mentioned, and the third being our current doctor) told us that Stella was far too young to do vision therapy. (How many times can I say “vision therapy?” Let’s see, shall we?*) Also, as I’ve said a million times lately, I just finished reading Fixing My Gaze, and it got me so pumped up about vision therapy that I felt physically uncomfortable with the knowledge that we weren’t pursuing vision therapy. And not only has Stella been taking off her glasses more, she’s been staring into space and rubbing her eyes frequently, too, as she did before getting glasses. Now I’ll have someone to gauge Stella’s vision regularly, someone I can grill in person and upon whom I can dump all my concerns on a weekly basis. Hooray for vision therapy!

So every Wednesday morning, we’ll be headed out for some mindblowingly fun “eye games” (aka “vision therapy”). That’s my brilliant branding for this new adventure. Wearing an eye patch is currently called, “the eye patch game.” I know, I know. My advertising background is coming through in its full luminescence here, I’m a genius and I put Don Draper to shame. Yes, yes and yes.

Upon confirming our slot, the vision therapy office emailed me a preparatory doc entitled, “VISION THERAPY: What you need to know.” Highlights include:

  • Vision therapy programs are individualized. “Each session consists of 45 minutes of one on one care combined with a program of daily home oriented therapy.”
  • We will be given “vision therapy handouts and supplies for home therapy use that will change periodically.”
  • “The majority of patients in a once a week program are in vision therapy for nine months to one year.”
  • Progress evaluations must be scheduled every three months regardless of the number of vision therapy sessions that have taken place during that time.

I am totally bringing chocolate chips, maybe even a baker’s dozen from Trophy Cupcakes, to each session. Whatever it takes to reward and encourage cooperation! Stella is 24 months old and is going to be asked to “focus” (in one way or another) for 45 minutes straight. I know she can do it. I’ve seen her concentrate intensely on an enormous ice cream cone for at least that long. I know we can make it work and I know this doctor knows what she’s doing and is fully aware that Stella just turned two. I know I know I know. But (shockingly) I’m a little nervous. Kind of like that time I bitched endlessly and fought like hell to get a promotion, then when it was finally handed to me, I freaked out and realized I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. “Idiots! What were they thinking giving me all these new responsibilities! I’m not ready for this! Oh wait…”

But seriously, it’s all coming together. Another bit of encouragement emerged on Monday evening at our PEPS (Program for Early Parent Support) gathering. (PEPS is just a bunch of parents-to-be that get tossed into a group that starts meeting weekly once the babies are born, within a month or so of each other. Basically, for new parents, it’s a way of feeling less insane.) Turns out one of the mothers in our PEPS group had double vision as a child, mainly when tired–fatigue is also what triggers Stella’s eye crossing. She admitted that in an attempt to see clearly, she wound up walking around with one eye closed. Her mother got used to seeing this, and like most young kids she was very good at compensating for the vision problem. As a result, she said her mom pretty much let it go until a friend called her out on it. She was told to wear a patch, but her parents opted for vision therapy instead! My kind of people! She did vision therapy for a year at around age six and that did the proverbial (literal?) trick–it’s just amazing to me. She’s had control of her eyes, and no double vision, since. Her recollection is that the sessions were fun, with engaging activities, but that she felt very tired afterward. And, because apparently she can read minds and intuited my concern about Stella’s age, she mentioned that while she was school age during her vision therapy, kids of all ages could found in the waiting room. (Thank you, PEPS pal.)

This sort of discovery keeps happening! Stella’s glasses and patch have been the gateway to all kinds of stories about patching and eye crossing and visual whatnot from just about everyone we know, and even some we don’t. It’s news to us but apparently everyone has a sibling or close relative who faced the same type of vision issues in childhood. I should’ve known! In Fixing My Gaze, neurobiologist extraordinaire Susan Barry points out that about one in 25 children has strabismus or a binocular vision problem. That’s roughly one in every classroom. It’s become clear that Stella is in good company, and it all feels so normal now. Which blows my mind. Normal and I aren’t close but I’ve always wanted to get to know him. Some say he’s boring but I find him absolutely fascinating!

One other bit of insight I took away from that vision therapy handout: This shit is going to be expensive. Did I mention I’m looking for freelance writing gigs? Go ahead and picture me, out on the internet highway, holding a shabby virtual sign that reads, “WILL WRITE FOR VISION THERAPY.” See? Completely normal.

P.S. Found this at covd.org, a “World Health News Today” segment on vision therapy for children.

* Tally: 19 “vision therapy” mentions. 20 if you count that one. I can totally do better. Vision therapy! 21.

Fashion visionary, so to speak

Right before Stella began wearing her fabulous French glasses, we purchased this (currently sold out) onesie from Threadless:

The "I Love Fairy Tales" onesie from Threadless

This is the "I Love Fairy Tales" design from Threadless. If you look closely, you'll notice small wings coming out of the bespectacled frog's mouth, and a tiny wand on the ground in front of him. Look even closer you can see the yogurt that Stella had just devoured.

Soon after Stella started patching, I found this beauty at Hanna Andersson (we got the onesie but they make a shirt version, too):

Pirate Girl Onesie from Hanna Andersson

Stella LOVES this thing. She keeps pointing at the skull and crossbones (complete with a pink bow) while saying, "Pirate girl! Wearing heart eye patch!" Which sums it up quite nicely.

Pirate girl onesie

Okay I just had to throw this shot in, too. I just like the pose. She was pretty delighted about her look. The onesie, rain boots, and black leggings totally WORK. On her. I could never pull this off.

Who knew visual challenges would wind up being such huge fashion inspiration? But then again, as I always say, “When life gives you lemons, make them the palette for a zesty, cheerful new wardrobe.”

Note: Even though we bought a Canon SLR, it’s somehow often dead or too far away when impromptu photo opportunities strike. So as you can probably tell, these are all un-fancified iPhone shots–no effects or anything added because I’m way behind the times in that particular area, among others. Ah, well, she’s cute through any lens.

I cry more than the babies in “Babies”

I just watched Babies. Finally! And I cried a lot. Did anyone else have that reaction?

Must be because I had severe anxiety from the moment Stella was born. Seeing sweet, simple moments from the four babies’ early months made me wish I’d been less insane and better able to enjoy Stella’s. Even in the more stimulating environments of Tokyo and San Francisco, I sensed more calm than I remember from those days. I loved her with fiery intensity immediately, but there wasn’t much time to be joyful. I was hyper-vigilant, exhausted after being awake for two days during her birth, and worried about everything even before her feeding problems began. I remember looking out the hospital window right before being sent home and all I saw was grayness, trash and hard corners. I distinctly remember thinking, “The city is so harsh. I don’t want to take Stella out there.” Sometimes I wonder if my stress played a role in creating the medical issues that damaged Stella’s intestinal tract while kicking my anxiety into the stratosphere.

As I devoured every moment of Babies, I felt a sense of longing and even a touch of grief. I just watched it, during Stella’s long afternoon nap, with a cup of chai green tea and a cozy, thick, fleece blanket on this chilly, rainy late summer day in Seattle. The exact same weather marked Stella’s first day on earth. I remember that Cody admitted to me that he found the rain sad, wishing for sunshine on her birthday. But later that day he broke the big news to his best friend, who pointed out to Cody that rain was perfect. It makes new life possible and helps it grow. I now realize Cody was struggling right along with me, though his friend’s words did wonders in that particular instance.

On THIS rainy late summer day two years later, I was able to just relax and watch a movie. Stella and I met up with a friend for lunch today, after a leisurely morning at home, during which she and I ate lamb and pita and I held a real conversation with another adult while she played. We’ll probably just take a walk in the rain when she wakes up. When Cody comes home, we’ll have dinner together. Maybe, just maybe, we’ve got a bit of that elusive peacefulness now. In between tantrums, of course.

Takeaways from Dr. Susan Barry’s Web Interview (School Crossings: How the System Lets Down Children with Vision Problems)

First off, I have to admit that I entered the web meeting eight to nine minutes late. This will be the opposite of shocking to anyone who knows me.

I was infuriated! I’d been anticipating this thing to a pathetic degree and just finished Dr. Susan Barry’s Fixing My Gaze, a godsend of a book for parents of children with strabismus. (Click here to listen to the NPR story about Sue.) Unbelievably, I was at my computer two minutes before the start time. And only then did I realize I had to download frigging webinar software, and this computer hates me and therefore refused to install it despite several admirable attempts. So instead of thinking about it for two seconds, I called Cody, who was on a walk with Stella so that I could have peace and quiet during the webinar. (Is “webinar” really a word? If so, it shouldn’t be. I hate it.) He said, with no annoyance in his voice whatsoever, “Use the laptop in our bedroom.” So I literally sprinted into our clothes-strewn cave of a room and logged on to an ancient IBM ThinkPad. Thank God it worked, or I would’ve thrown lamps and other breakable items in frustration. Pile of clothing, at least.

Anywho. My coverage, as promised…

By the time I got to the party, hosted by the College of Optometrists in Vision Development (COVD), Sue (I guess I’ll be cozy and call her that) was recounting some of the background laid out in her book. She had 20/20 vision in both eyes. So, in the standard vision tests they give in school, where you read a chart of letters (20 feet away) with one eye covered and then the other, her binocular vision problem went completely undetected. It’s not just because one eye was covered so as to avoid revealing the inability of her eyes to work together, but like Stella, her vision was pretty much fine from far away (say, 20 feet), and not so sharp within a few feet. Because the vision test didn’t reveal the source of her low test scores, she was labeled as a “dim bulb.” Literally. Teachers told her parents to accept the fact that their daughter had low intelligence.  Sue, neurobiologist and author Sue Barry, Ph.D., was placed in a “special needs” class with an assortment of children with widely varying impairments and diagnoses. Side note: Sue’s best friend was physically impaired by polio, though she said it was quite obvious his intellect was just fine. Sue never raised her hand to answer questions because she had no confidence in herself. Thankfully, her mother never, ever doubted her high intelligence, and Sue saw and felt that.

Of course, Sue’s mother did more than merely believe in her. She took action that contributed directly to Sue’s later success. She read to and with Sue constantly. More than that, whenever young Sue expressed excitement about or interest in any topic, she would come home to find that her mother had placed a perfectly chosen book about that very subject on her bed. A little surprise, an eagerly opened treasure. Reading was fun.

Sue explained why her mother’s efforts were so powerful. If a person anticipates a reward for an activity, brain activity is generated that changes synapses. By making reading to rewarding and enjoyable, Sue’s mother helped shape her brain! Despite the fact that her binocular vision problem made reading much more difficult than for most, she became a slow but competent reader. She found joy in it, which propelled her through the visual challenges. I wish I could give Sue’s mom a huge hug, and perhaps a parade. Honestly, read Sue’s book. That woman went to bat for her daughter. Much respect.

I have to add that Sue and the moderator further discussed the topic of how to encourage reading in kids who, as Sue did as a child, find it uncomfortable and difficult. For most kids with vision problems that make reading taxing (but not impossible), total avoidance of reading and reliance on books on tape isn’t the answer. They suggested that parents and teachers simply be patient, and take it slow. Start with less challenging material until their confidence and endurance increases. Provide breaks during reading. Small efforts like taking turns reading paragraphs with your child can make a huge difference.

After recapping how her childhood was affected by her vision problem, Sue delved into the story of a boy named Eric (also shared in Sue’s book). For a long time, no one knew Eric had a vision problem. Eric’s eyes looked straight. He could see well from a distance. Bu his vision was poor when looking at things close-up, which made schoolwork frustrating and aversive. As a result, Eric was a poor-performing and distractible student who was diagnosed with and medicated for ADHD! This unfortunate mistake wasn’t corrected until they happened to visit a clinic (for kids with ADHD) that offered binocular vision tests. Only then did they realize Eric’s true problem. According to Sue, following vision therapy, Eric has gone on to become one of the top students in his college class.

The moderator helpfully asked Sue to name any key studies or resources that she could suggest to parents. She cited two:

Reading Strategies in Mild to Moderate Strabismic Ambylopia: An Eye Movement Investigation (published just this year). Key finding: These kids have longer fixations and less accurate saccades.

Randomized Clinical Trial of Treatments for Convergence Insufficiency in Children (a study by the National Eye Institute). This trial resulted in recommendation of a 12-week course of office- and home-based vision therapy.

Note: Sue also suggested that parents visit COVD.org to check out their “Research and White Papers” and reminded us that the chapter notes in her book are full of references to the wealth of research and studies cited.

Because the point of this “webinar” was to empower parents and educators to better support children with vision problems, the moderator (again, very helpfully) asked Sue what activities she found most enjoyable as a child. My ears perked up. This is about building confidence, and focusing on strengths rather than worrying about weaknesses! But when I heard what she said next, as she began her answer, I got a tiny bit sad. Because she explained that ball sports were difficult and not very enjoyable at all, as they involved demanding eye tracking which requires coordination of the two eyes. She just couldn’t follow the ball, puck or other fast-moving object well enough. So, while it makes no sense and we really don’t know what Stella’s vision will be like or if she’ll even be interested in sports, I got a little misty. Maybe Stella won’t be able to play basketball. Or softball or tennis. Maybe she won’t get the same joy out of the sports that sustained me through middle and high school. (Sorry for the tangent.)

BUT. Sue said that less visually demanding sports like swimming and running (and I’ve heard ice skating is also a favorite of strabismic kids) were very enjoyable to her. In fact, she may’ve had an advantage. In Fixing My Gaze, Sue gives many examples of how the brain compensates for challenges in one area by building up abilities in other areas. That’s basically my lame-ass explanation of neuroplasiticity. In cases of injury or disability, the brain adapts to help us figure out new ways of doing things. In her book, Sue describes a key realization  during a vacation to Hawaii–she was far better at finding the way back to their accommodations at night, though a dark and winding path, than the rest of her family. She couldn’t rely as much on sight, and other senses were filling in the gaps (thanks, neuroplasticity!). Her mind seemed to note how her body moved and felt as it moved down the trail, and she was able to navigate easily and intuitively while her better sighted companions were lost.

Driving a car down the street was a whole different story, however. She was a terribly slow and unsure driver who actually designed her entire life around avoiding the activity. That was her prime motivation for beginning vision therapy–not a belief that she’d be able to see in 3D after 48 years of living in a flat world. After all, she’d been told that after early childhood, this type of correction was simply impossible.

Sue admitted that she often receives desperate emails from people with vision problems. They plead for help in figuring out a way to improve their vision, as past efforts have failed. Wisely, she pointed out that this desperation is a sure indicator that their current doctor is not listening and responding to their concerns. She urges people who feel unsupported and hopeless to find a new doctor right away. An easy way to find one who specializes in vision therapy is to go to COVD.org and enter your zip code in the upper right corner under “Locate a Doctor.” Only a real expert who specializes in binocular vision can help. In other words, you need a developmental optometrist, like the one we were lucky to find for Stella and through whom I found out about this interview with Sue. Hooray!

In the Q & A period at the end of the session, a listener asked if vision could regress following vision therapy. Sue paused a bit, and explained that beginning at age 48, she did vision therapy for one year. This entailed one day a week in the office of Dr. Ruggiero, and 30 minutes a day at home. While her vision has retained its dramatic improvement in the years since, she admits that she still does a small amount of vision therapy at home, just to be proactive. Sue noted that while adults can make amazing advances with help from to high levels of motivation and concentration, children are in a much more advantageous position. A child’s mind is more elastic, and her visual system still developing. For a young person, say, six months or so of vision therapy could very well do the trick, their eyes more quickly trained to work together and new mental habits more easily entrenched, quite possibly for life. With, perhaps, a tune-up here and there (in the form of vision therapy) as an adult.

It was clear to me during this meeting that Sue and her buds at the COVD are trying to get the word OUT! Not only in regards to better, earlier detection of vision problems, better support of children who have them, and awareness of the effectiveness of vision therapy, but also about the widespread belief that there is a critical early window for correction of vision problems associated with strabismus. As Sue put it, conservatively, “the ‘early window’ dogma is overstated.” Their shared hope is to educate eye doctors about vision therapy so that they will then “lay out options for their patients.” A booming AMEN to that.

In closing, I’m so glad I listened in. It helped me realize that I need and want more clarity on exactly what Stella is dealing with. I know she has accommodative esotropia, which is a type of strabismus, and has started down the path (at least) to ambylopia, hence the patching. But do anisometropia and convergence insufficiency also apply? They seem to, especially the former, but I’m not sure because no doctor has ever used those terms in regards to her. Knowing how these terms fit with Stella, or not, would help me interpret and apply what I’m learning. I’ll be bothering her eye doctor even more now. Thanks, Sue! Sorry, doc. (Not really.)

I hope my wordy recap was helpful to someone. That said, you can get all of Sue’s important findings and insights in Fixing My Gaze. As the cover attests, it’s a must-read for anyone interested in vision or our amazing, adaptable brains. Seriously, I have a new appreciation for my eyes and the contents of my cranium. Now if only I could make my keys stop disappearing….

New “tube weaning stories” page

Just a note to say that in this blog’s navigation I’ve replaced the “Stella’s Tube Wean” page with a more broad and helpful “Tube Weaning Stories” page. All of these children’s stories deserved to be more prominent, darn it! I plan to fill this page with links to dozens and dozens of weaning stories (with a brief note about the duration of and reason for tube feeding provided, as you’ll see), but for now you’ll find Stella, Zander, Heath, Frankie, and Diego highlighted there.

If you know of any tube weaning stories that are shared online, regardless of the weaning method or principles used, please let me know! I’d be grateful and will post the link as soon as possible.

Thank you!