M*A*S*H

We can finish this hand before the chopper gets here.

"Hot Streak" Houlihan strikes again.

Four‐‐ And deal fast. My money misses me.

Kiss your cash good‐bye, Corporal.

May he who brings the flowing waters to the parched desert

grant me a small pair of aces.

May the mother of your camel spit in your yogurt.

Dealer takes one. Here he comes.

Ah, feh. Pass.

‐MARGARET: Hunnicutt, bet. He's coming closer. ‐B. J.: Fifty.

Call. What do you got?

Well, let's see. 4, 5‐‐

Lay them down!

8, 10, queen‐‐ Beat that.

Ha ha!

‐4s and 7s. ‐Ha ha!

Hold it! Hold it! All bets are off! The chopper's landing!

Not until the skids hit the dirt, buster! Three deuces!

Oh! How about that? Let's go!

Save my money, Klinger!

Better check him first.

Battalion Aid says he's got an open chest wound.

How is he?

Respiratory distress.

The blood's pouring through the pressure bandage.

We better get him into O. R. fast.

He's not gonna make it to O. R.

I think he's got a lacerated aorta.

I can't get in there. You got a knife?

‐I got a pocketknife. ‐Let me have it.

‐What are you doing? ‐As soon as I get my hand in there,

I'm going to compress the aorta against his spinal column

and try to stop the bleeding.

‐All right. I think I got it. ‐Jeep!

If we cut off the blood to his spinal cord

for more than 20 minutes,

he stands a good chance of winding up paralyzed.

What time is it?

14:32, sir.

All right. Let's go.

Swing around there. Come back this way.

Come all the way back this way.

‐I got ya. ‐All right. Push me up.

‐How's the other guy? ‐Fractured tibia. He'll be all right.

‐How's his breathing? ‐Not too bad yet,

but when we get to O. R., he's going to need to be ventilated.

Hold these guys down and go like hell.

We haven't got much time.

Roy, AB‐negative.

Go to the blood bank. and get all you can.

‐Yes, sir. ‐Margaret, we're gonna need the large vascular clamps.

I'll have them waiting for you.

How about you pack him in ice, Hawk?

Hypothermia might reduce the chance of paralysis.

‐Yeah. Klinger! ‐Yo!

Go get my canvas bathtub

and bring all the ice you can find.

My feet are like wings.

‐How bad is it? Can you tell? ‐No, I can't tell

until I get inside and get a look at it.

Better be prepared for the worst.

‐Kellye, get that bottle of arterial grafts. ‐Right away, Doctor.

Isn't this great, huh? What luck.

I haven't held anything good in my hand all day.

I need some help here. Somebody get on this!

‐(jet flying overhead) ‐(chattering)

Swing around. Somebody get those doors inside.

Table 2. Margaret, give me those vascular clamps.

I can't find them!

Hurry up! My fingers are cramping.

There's no AB‐negative.

I brought O‐positive.

I hate to give him too much uncrossmatched blood,

especially a different type.

You can only give him what you got.

Hang the first two units. Margaret, the clamps!

Better hurry, Margaret,

before the numbness in his brain reaches his fingers.

Wait a minute. Those clamps are in the Swamp.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

What the hell are they doing in the Swamp?

Those things are irreplaceable, Margaret.

We wanted to keep them somewhere safe.

‐Where are they? ‐They're in my footlocker

under the Journal of Competitive Nudity

between the shorts with the holes

and the can of Norwegian kippers.

Those are my kippers, you animal.

‐The iceman cometh. ‐Put it behind me.

Let's move this table forward.

Get it right up against my legs, right behind my legs.

That's all the ice you got?

I'm sorry. I'm a desert person.

Get his midsection. Step right in the tub.

That's right. Now step‐‐ Step through.

Get his head and shoulders flat‐‐Right on the floor.

Klinger, we're gonna need more ice.

Try the Officers Club.

I'll be back in a trice with the ice.

‐Trice? ‐Fifteen ways to a better vocabulary, Major.

The keystone to executive advancement is enhanced by good verbiage.

Funk and Wagnall are whirling dervishly in their mausoleum.

‐Great verbiage, Charles. ‐I'm on day 14.

‐(groaning) ‐He's waking up!

Get him bagged down! Get him on the table.

Okay, where's the ice?

‐That's all you got? ‐A lot of business in here today.

These guys are leaving tonight

They're trying to get loaded before the bus does.

‐We'll take what you got. ‐Hey, wait a minute.

I can't sell drinks without ice.

You can taste the booze that way.

We need it for the O.R. Come on, Frank.

‐How you doing, Hawk? ‐Freezing my phalanges.

I brought the arterial grafts, Doctor.

Let me see them.

No, these are too small.

If too much of the aorta is gone,

we're gonna be in big trouble.

Well, this one's pretty big.

That's no bigger than spaghettini.

We need rigatoni.

Spoken like a true meatball surgeon.

Rigatoni? Doctor, I'm part Chinese and part Hawaiian.

Can you put that in ethnic measurements I can understand?

A small egg roll.

That I understand. We don't have any that big.

I know we don't. We took so many grafts

from so many guys who didn't make it.

How could we not take an aorta?

MAN (on P. A.): Ambulance in the compound.

Surgeons not otherwise occupied needed for triage.

Tout de suite, please.

My hands are kinda full. Would you answer the door?

‐Kellye, take over for me. ‐Right.

‐Keep cool. ‐(groans)

Okay, this is it. Down to the last cube.

Dump it in.

Margaret, the clamps!

Relax. I found them.

Well, bring 'em over before my hand falls off.

What do you mean, bring 'em over? They're soaking in alcohol.

I've had my unsterilized hand in this man's body for the past ten minutes.

What kind of a nurse do you think I am?

I'm not going to let an instrument go

from your dirty sock to that man's heart!

Your hand will last a few seconds more.

Somebody heat me up!

Stick me in a toaster! Set my pants on fire!

‐Brr. ‐Yeah, that's what I say.

Excuse me, Father.

Did you do the tracheotomy, Colonel?

Yeah, but it won't help.

His head injury is much too severe.

Pupils are fixed and dilated.

Blood pressure's up, pulse is coming down.

He's not going to make it.

I'm afraid not.

There's nothing else we can do here.

You better finish up, Father.

Right.

What else you got?

Just a superficial belly wound.

Will you take him? I'd like to stay with this boy.

What for? There's nothing you can do.

Hawkeye's got a kid in O. R.

who may be missing part of his aorta.

You want to take a graft from him?

Right.

All right. I'll take the belly wound.

How old do you think he is, about 18?

Father, will you tell Hawkeye

I may have an aorta for him in five or 10 minutes?

Right.

Are you all right, B. J.?

Yeah.

I feel helpless just waiting for this boy to die.

It's not what I was trained for.

I'll tell Hawkeye.

Hey, Doc!

How is he? Is he gonna be all right?

He's in pretty bad shape. There's nothing we can do.

Well, you gotta do something.

You can't just let him die. You're a doctor.

Look‐‐

Look, Roberts, it's out of my hands.

As much as I'd like to,

there are some things I can't fix.

You gotta save him. Please!

Get him inside.

Don't let him die!

Hawkeye, B. J. says you should have an aorta in a few minutes.

‐Yeah? How few? ‐He's got a casualty who is comatose‐‐

Pupils fixed and dilated.

I hope B. J.'s right.

He could stay alive for hours.

Here they are. I hope they're clean enough‐‐

Okay. Kellye, keep pumping blood.

We're going to lose a lot real quick getting these clamps on.

We're running very low on blood.