The View from the Vue by Larry Karp

mused. “Bend over and let’s try again.” Henry tried again, but the result was the same.
    “This is the god-damndest slipperiest bottle I’ve ever seen,” Henry said to me, a puzzled look on his face.
    Suddenly I realized why. All that lubricating jelly I had used on my fingers had been transferred to the bottle, making it as slippery as the proverbial greased pig. My feeling of chagrin was not lessened when the patient slipped me a sly wink.
    “I’ll be right back,” Henry said. “I’m going up to OB for a minute.”
    “OB?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine why Henry would be going to the obstetrics floor at that point.
    “Just don’t go away,” he said, as he walked briskly out the door.
    A few minutes later Henry returned carrying a contraption I have since become thoroughly familiar with, but which at the time was utterly foreign to me. “This is called a vacuum extractor,” he said, as he walked in. “It’s used sort of like forceps, to pull a baby out. This little cup here fits on the top of the baby’s head, and the vacuum pump, over here, creates a suction through the hose. Then you just pull on the hose, and out comes the baby. Or in this case, the Coke bottle.”
    “Jesus God,” I said. “Did you tell the OB resident what you were going to use his baby-schlepper for?”
    “As a matter of fact, I did,” said Henry. “I know the guy who’s on tonight pretty well, and he’s kind of a character. He thought it was a pretty clever idea. Actually he wanted to come down to watch, except he had a lady all ready to deliver.”
    Henry checked the assembly of the vacuum extractor, and then set about trying to apply the metal cup to the base of the Coke bottle. But every time he pushed the cup against the bottle, the latter would float deeper into the rectum, and he was never able to achieve a tight enough seal to permit him to pump up the vacuum. Finally, his face bright red and dripping sweat, he put down the instrument and shook his head sadly.
    “Do you think we could get a pair of obstetric forceps and use them to pull it out?” I asked hopefully.
    Henry shook his head again. “They’re too big,” he said. “I’m afraid we might put the end of one right through the rectum.” His face brightened. “But maybe we could get a high-speed drill from maintenance, make a hole in the bottom, and hook a stick or something through it.”
    “That doesn’t sound wise,” I said. “For one thing, the glass slivers up there might not do him too much good. And for another, if the bottle wouldn’t hold still for the vacuum cup, it’s not very likely to hold still for the drill bit.”
    “I wish you guys would figure
something
out,” said the patient, a little querulously. “I know it’s my own fault, but I really don’t want to go through the rest of my life with this bottle up my ass.”
    Henry jumped up and slapped the man on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, old fellow,” he said. “We’re going to get your bottle out for you all right. But we’ll have to put you to sleep to do it.” Then he turned to me. “Arrange for anesthesia and an operating room,” he said, “and call me when they’re ready to put him to sleep.”
    A couple of hours passed before I could take care of all the preliminaries which are necessary before someone can receive general anesthesia, but finally we were all set, and I gave Henry a call. After the patient was rendered unconscious, we strapped him to the operating table in the prone position, with his knees drawn up against his chest. Then the anesthetist, at Henry’s order, lowered the foot of the table so that gravity would be of maximal help in the procedure.
    With a bit of a flourish, Henry produced a pair of rubber gloves, two squares of yellow sponge rubber, a roll of cellophane tape, and a pair of bandage scissors. While I watched, entranced, he put on the gloves and then proceeded to cut out finger-sized pieces of the sponge rubber, which he taped to