That Evening in Vienna, a Drama of Life-and-Death Rescue Unfolded Quietly

At the end of February, in the glow of the evening, I declined my colleague's invitation to dinner, set out from WINZERHOTEL, and strolled southeastward along Wiener Street. Arriving at the Gumpoldskirchen train station, I bought a ticket, boarded the train, and got off at Pfaffstätten. Following Google Navigation, I stepped onto the empty Albrects Street, then turned onto Badener Road, where the red lantern sign of XINYU Chinese restaurant came into view. The Chinese buffet for €9.60 satisfied my taste buds. After eating, I walked along Badener Road to the DM DROGIE MARKT pharmacy, took a look around, and completed the task assigned by LP.

After taking the train back to the hotel, my stomach began to swell. At first, I suspected it was jet lag or maybe a problem with the dinner. I found the medicine kit LP had prepared and took some berberine. Soon after, however, a wave of nausea hit me; I only spat out a little yellow fluid, but the pain grew more intense, and I fell straight to my knees.

Never in my life had I experienced such agony; I was terrified. I opened the guest handbook and dialed the emergency number 144. The operator spoke German. In less than ten minutes, the piercing siren of the ambulance sounded downstairs. By then, the pain had made it impossible for me to stand, so I crawled down from the second floor step by step, struggled to the hotel entrance, and, driven by the will to survive, straightened up just enough to reach the door lock, before finally collapsing into the arms of the medical staff in white coats.

I was lifted onto the stretcher. I thought the paramedics would rush me to the hospital, but they insisted on asking all sorts of questions: name, age, nationality, medical history... When they reached the third page of the form, they even asked about drug allergies. Good heavens, I'm not a medical professional—how could I know how to say 'penicillin' in a foreign language? My mind raced, and I remembered a movie where the New Fourth Army in northern Jiangsu bought medicine in Shanghai and mentioned 'penicillin'.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the form was finally filled out, thinking it was time to go to the hospital! But the vehicle still didn't move. They started taking my blood pressure, performing an ECG, drawing blood from a vein... Suddenly, a doctor asked me my blood type. I had no idea. Even if I knew my parents' blood types, it wouldn't be enough to determine my own. The two doctors muttered for a moment—perhaps seeing that I was drenched in sweat and that further delays over blank entries on the form might put my life at risk—and decided to send me to a hospital in Vienna.

After leaving the small town, near midnight, the ambulance stopped at an intersection. I struggled to ask if there were still questions unanswered. The driver replied, 'No, the vehicle has to wait for the traffic light to turn green to cross.' And so, one traffic light after another, I was eventually taken to the emergency department of Landesklinikum Mödling Hospital. Dr. Andreas Dalos, the attending physician and a graduate of the Faculty of Biology at the University of Belgrade, began my emergency treatment.

TIPS: When traveling abroad in the future, never forget the English names of your commonly used medications...