At first we nearly lost Mao. Immediately after he agreed to be treated, Wu Jie and Hu Xudong joined me at the swimming pool. After the confrontation with Jiang Qing several weeks before and her veiled accusation that I was a spy, I no longer wanted to work alone. This way, if anything happened to Mao, responsibility would be shared and Jiang Qing's power over me diminished. We asked Shang Deyan to bring the emergency medical equipment from the Zhongnanhai Clinic. I tested Mao for allergy to the antibiotics we wanted to administer, and when the test proved negative, we asked Wu Xujun to give Mao a shot in his left hip.

Twenty minutes later, Mao began coughing. He was weak and had no strength to expel the phlegm. The liquid caught in his throat, and suddenly he was choking, unable to breathe, gasping for breath. He collapsed.

We sat him up. Hu Xudong began pounding Mao's chest, panicked, yelling, “Chairman! Chairman!” He was pounding too hard for a man Mao's age. His ribs could have been broken, and I worried about the confusion his actions were causing the attendants who were in the room. I called the Zhongnanhai Clinic again to get the emergency equipment there immediately. We administered a number of intravenous drugs, including Gentamicin and steroids, to combat the lung infection, stimulate Mao's reflexes, and reduce the bronchial spasms.

Ten minutes passed. Shang Deyan had still not come. I ran to the clinic. Shang was waiting for a mini-van. We grabbed the equipment and ran back to Mao's room. He was still unconscious. Shang Deyan set up the suction machine and cleared Mao's throat. We administered oxygen through a mask.

Within moments, Mao opened his eyes and pulled off the mask.

“What are you all doing?” he asked.

“How do you feel?” I wanted to know.

Mao said he felt as though he had been asleep. When he saw the intravenous tube in his arm, he tried to yank it out. I stopped him. “You can't take that out. If you do, we won't be able to get the medicine into your bloodstream.”

“Why are there so many people in here?” he wanted to know. “I don't need so many people.” The non-medical staff scurried out of the room.

Mao's collapse was the closest call we had ever had. Wang Dongxing had been alerted immediately, while Mao was still unconscious, and he in turn notified Zhou Enlai, then in a meeting at the Great Hall of the People. Zhou was so shocked that he lost control of his bladder and bowels, soiling his pants. He washed and changed his clothes before rushing to the swimming pool. Mao had recovered by then.

Zhou looked in on Mao and talked briefly with Zhang Yufeng, who had been there through most of the crisis. He was still tense when he called the medical team together and asked Wu Jie, Hu Xudong, and me to explain what had happened.

“Zhang Yufeng thinks the Chairman collapsed because of an allergic reaction to the antibiotics,” he said when we finished our briefing. “You are going to have to look into that.”

Shang Deyan, who had actually done the suctioning, was certain there had been no allergic reaction. “It wasn't a reaction to the shot,” he insisted. “Chairman was able to breathe as soon as the phlegm was sucked out. He returned to normal immediately.”

Zhou Enlai accepted our explanation but still wanted a full report. “This is a very serious matter,” he emphasized, “and the politburo has not been informed.” He wondered what would have happened if the rescue operations had failed and why Shang Deyan, in charge of the emergency procedures, had not been at the swimming pool when the crisis began. He was upset by the delay in getting the rescue started.

I explained that Mao had ordered Zhang Yaoci to permit only Hu Xudong, Wu Jie, and me into the swimming pool area, and he refused to have emergency equipment on hand. Our medical work would be severely hampered without the emergency equipment, and I had tried to convince Zhang Yaoci to bring it in despite Mao's objections, but he would not disobey the Chairman. I had planned to raise the question directly with Mao as soon as his condition improved. The emergency had arisen before I had a chance.

Zhou agreed that Mao's health was most important. “We'll have to rearrange the swimming pool area,” he agreed. He said he would ask Wang Dongxing to install the necessary equipment.

We put Mao on a regimen of antibiotics, digitalis, and diuretics. Zhang Yufeng continued to be uncooperative and insisted on knowing exactly when the diuretics would work. I estimated that Mao would urinate about 2,000cc in approximately four hours.

Zhang Yufeng sneered. “Are you sure?”

“Nobody can be absolutely sure,” I responded. “We can only say that the drug normally has this effect. The important thing now is that Chairman takes the proper dosage at the right time.”

“That's not my business,” Zhang Yufeng snapped. “The head nurse is responsible for the medication.”

Wu Jie, not yet initiated into the inner circle, was shocked by Zhang Yufeng's behavior. “Who is this Zhang Yufeng?” he wanted to know as she stomped away. “Why is she so rude?”

I could not tell him about Mao's private life. “You'll understand after you've been here a while,” I replied.

About four hours after the first dosage of diuretics, Mao passed 1800cc of urine. We were delighted. Mao was happy, too, and gathered the medical team together in his room. He wanted us to explain his illness and the course of treatment again.

“It looks like I can recover, then,” he said. “America's President Nixon is coming. Have you heard the news?”

“Premier Zhou has mentioned it,” I said.

Mao said that Nixon would arrive on the twenty-first of the month and wondered if he could be fully recovered by then.

“If we continue treatment, you'll have no problem meeting him,” I promised.

“Good. Then let's continue the treatment.”

He invited us to dinner to share some of his favorite dishes—Wuchang fish and shuanyangrou, the thinly sliced lamb cooked in a broth-filled pot and dipped in a rich, delicious sauce. As we were eating, Mao learned that Wu Jie was not a member of the party. Dr. Wu explained that he had belonged to the Guomindang before liberation and had therefore been prohibited from joining.

Mao laughed. “I used to be a member of the Guomindang myself,” he said, referring to the period in the early 1920s when the Communist party and the Guomindang had collaborated. “What does that matter?” He turned to me. “Tell Beijing Hospital that Wu Jie will join the Communist party at my recommendation.” Wu Jie became an instant member of the party.

Zhou Enlai was delighted that Mao was recovering so quickly and had his picture taken with the medical team to show his appreciation. He asked us to join him and his wife for Chinese New Year, promising to serve the traditional dumplings and a cake for dessert. As he was leaving, he reminded me of President Nixon's upcoming visit. “Make sure Chairman is well enough to see him,” he said.