I had a Close Encounter of the Creepy Kind with my iPhone this week. This has caused me to pause and reflect on our relationship with all our bright and shiny electronic doodads.

It happened last Sunday as Eyegal and I attended early service at a local Episcopal parish, as is our habit from time to time. It was the First Sunday in Lent (Note to my Baptist and Church of Christ friends: Lent is a 40-day period of repentance preceding Easter. It is part of the church calendar, which is actually pretty official and has been around a long, long time–like, several centuries before the founding of the United States–and has more on it besides the date of the Ladies Retreat and the next church-wide potluck. It is NOT the little white stuff that you pick off your navy blazer/skirt prior to church, and it’s NOT what you did with your “Come Hither Baby Blue” cosmetic-tinted contact lens to your BFF back in 10th grade, although we didn’t call them BFsF back then).

Lent means repentance which equals solemnity. In Episcopal-speak, that means get there early and hit your knees prior to the Processional starting on the First Sunday in Lent. Of course, we didn’t know that because we’re clueless life-long Church of Christers. Still, the usher smiled, not scowled, at us and handed us our Order of Worship. We made our way to our usual pew, right hand side, two thirds of the way back, flipped down the kneelers carefully so as not to make a racket and joined in just as the priest started to make her way (that’s right, her way–not a typo) around the sanctuary leading the Processional.

It was the Great Litany (the Book of Common Prayer, p. 148) and it lasted a long, long time. So long, in fact, that my knees started to throb a little (Good Lord, deliver us!). But that’s okay, because it’s Lent and a little self-mortification never hurt anybody. Not permanently, anyway.

Now most churches these days remind you to turn off your cell phones and pagers (Pagers? Really? Does anybody still have one of those?) prior to the start of service, usually with a prominent bullet and catchy cartoon on the ginormous PowerPoint JumboTron (or two) hung over the baptistery. Which is, you know, sort of ironic.

I usually don’t have to be reminded of this. I am very sensitive about cell phones going off at inopportune times, probably because I have so many patients pull away from me in the middle of ophthalmoscopy to take that “important call” about Bobby Joe picking up a six-pack of Natural Light for lunch, so could Rufus (my patient in the chair) get some Pabst Blue Ribbon instead? “No problem, good buddy, but I gotta go, Doc’s getting a little steamed over here.”

I then crank up the light on my scope to all the way past 10 to 11. I have vays of making them squeal.

You won’t find a JumboTron anyway near an Episcopal church. Apparently, they don’t believe in them. Instead they put the request in tiny print in the Order of Worship: “Pretty please, if you don’t mind too much, turn off your cell phones and pagers. And even if yours goes off and ruins the moment for everyone, we forgive you and love you anyway and you’re still welcome to join us in the Fellowship Hall after services for coffee and scones.”

I turned my new-fangled techno-jewel off, I swear I did. But as the Great Litany went on and on, and my knees starting to throb more and more, I must have started to fidget and squirm a little. And when I did that, I must have put the tiniest amount of pressure on the “Home” button on my iPhone which was in my front left pocket. [...]

“Have a nice weekend,” I called out to my technician last Friday shortly after 4:00 PM. “Off to get a haircut. It’s getting a little out of hand,” I chuckled. I patted the top of my crown where a shock of unruly hair shot straight up, trying in vain to press it down flat. I looked like Einstein after sticking his finger in a light socket.

When I stepped outside, I heard the sirens in full, 360 degree surround sound. From every direction came the warbling wail; if the sun hadn’t been shining I would’ve sworn there was a tornado on the ground. Still, I’m used to MedFlight helicopters hovering overhead and the sound of sirens, so I thought little of it.

As I looked left toward Madison Street and turned right on Whitesburg Drive, I noticed a flurry of activity around Huntsville Hospital near the Emergency Room entrance. Nothing unusual.

But a few minutes later when I made my customary left on to Carl T. Jones Drive, I started to see them whizz past me in the opposite direction, Huntsville Police Department units, their plexiglass bubble tops popping like disco strobe lights, all making their way north. I began to think that something big must be going down, but I held the thought only briefly, focusing instead on making it to the styling salon before closing time.

Once there, I signed in, saw that it was going to be a while, and rather than picking up the latest issue of People magazine, I pulled out my iPhone and checked my Facebook page and Twitter feed instead. That was the moment that I started to put two and two together, when the Huntsville Times started to “tweet” on the events unfolding with deadly speed at the University of Alabama-Huntsville:

“Several people shot at UAH’s Shelby Center. More details coming soon.”

“3 people dead in shooting at UAH.”

“Does anyone have any information on Dr. Amy Bishop or Jim Anderson?”

By that time, the radio station that had been playing classic rock was weighing in as well, and I rose from my straight back, plastic chair and walked closer to a speaker so I could hear over the background chatter of the salon. That’s when my faithful stylist, the only one who can consistently tame my stray mop to my satisfaction, noticed me.

“What’s wrong, Mike?” she called out as she applied her clippers to the back of another middle-aged man’s neck.

“There’s been a shooting at UAH, Shelby Center. At least 3 people killed, several injured. Shooter in custody–they think,” I responded in short, Twitter-like bursts, 140 characters or less. [...]

I’ve received quite a few compliments on my “old-timey” eye exam header at the top of my blog. Glad y’all like it. I think it symbolizes what I’ve been trying to do here at Ocular Fusion over the years (“Just looking around and trying to put it all together”).

That, plus I like black and white, old school pictures. We’ve had a blast going through Mom’s pictures since she died and found some real gems. It’s always good to be remember your roots.

Of course, any eye-savvy folks out there can immediately spot the irony: Old Timey Eyeguy is not really “fusing.” He’s doing what’s called “monocular indirect ophthalmoscopy” (MIO) as opposed to “binocular indirect ophthalmoscopy” (BIO) which is what we modern eye docs typically do. That’s the preferred method because if you use those eye drops that blow your pupils wide open for several days and make your life miserable (it’s really only a few hours, just seems like days) you get a nice 3D image with BIO. Like they always say, “two eyes are better than one.”

Two eyes are better than one because when they work together you get your money’s worth after plopping down $15 for James Cameron’s Avatar at the movie theater with the leather seats and the wine bar. I feel sorry for the poor saps with one functioning eye who handed over their hard-earned cash and eagerly put on their 3D glasses for what was billed as “alternate reality, complete immersion experience” only to discover that Pandora is flatter than one of those 14th century maps of planet Earth.

The problem for us eye doctors is that it’s not always possible to do BIO. There are some situations where only MIO will do. Like this Saturday when I do that eye screening at the health fair. I won’t have the luxury of dilating pupils, and I’d like to do at least a little something to let the patient know what is going in their retina beyond donning a turban and trying to channel Carnac the Magnificent. [...]