ABSTRACT
D r. P. was a musician of distinction, well known for many years as a singer, and then, at the local school of music, as a teacher. It was here, in relation to his students, that certain strange problems were first observed. Sometimes a student would present himself, and Dr. P. would not recognize him; or, specifically, would not recognize his face. The moment the student spoke, he would be recognized by his voice. Such incidents multiplied, causing embarrassment, perplexity, fear-and, sometimes, comedy. For not only did Dr. P. increasingly fail to see faces, but he saw faces when there were no faces to see; genially, Magoo-like, when in the street, he might pat the heads of water hydrants and parking meters, taking these to be the heads of children; he would amiably address carved knobs on the furniture and be astounded when they did not reply. At first these odd mistakes were laughed off as jokes, not least by Dr. P. himself. Had he not always had a quirky sense of humor and been given to Zen-like paradoxes and jests? His musical powers were as dazzling as ever; he did not feel ill-he had never felt better; and the mistakes were so ludicrous-and so ingenious-that they could hardly be serious or betoken anything serious. The notion of there being “something the matter” did not emerge until some three years later, when diabetes developed. Well aware that diabetes could affect his eyes, Dr. P. consulted an ophthalmologist, who took a careful history and examined his eyes closely. “There’s nothing the matter with your eyes,” the doctor concluded. “But there is trouble with the visual parts of your brain. You don’t need my help, you must see a neurologist.” And so, as a result of this referral, Dr. P. came to me.
