Chapter 13 — The First Heartbeat

On Saturday morning, November 29, Thien Kim woke up at five o'clock in the morning, even though the opening ceremony of the Community First Aid Festival only started at eight o'clock. She lay on the bed for a long time, looking at the ceiling, feeling her heart beat faster than usual because of nervousness, but this time, she realized, it wasn't quite fear like before - there was also excitement and anticipation.

She arrived at school at half past six, earlier than the required gathering time, and saw Minh Vu and several other members already present, arranging tables, chairs, and setting up tents for different areas on the large school grounds.

"You're here so early," Minh Vu said, smiling when he saw her, still tying the ropes for a tent. "Can you sleep?"

"Not much," Thien Kim admitted, smiling wryly. "But I feel fine, not as bad as I thought."

"That's a good sign," Minh Vu said, waving his hand to call her closer to complete the instruction station area for handling foreign objects.

The schoolyard is gradually transformed into a large-scale event space: the blood donation area is located in an air-conditioned multi-purpose room, with mobile blood donation beds brought by the city hospital and a team of professional doctors; The information booth area is located near the school gate, with signs and leaflets about Red Cross activities; and the community first aid guidance area, where Thien Kim is in charge of one of three stations, is located right in the middle of the school yard under the typical red and white tents.

At half past seven, the entire organizing committee gathered to listen to Ms. Hoa and Minh Vu give a final briefing on the day's operating procedures. "Today, we expect to welcome about two hundred to three hundred participants," Ms. Hoa announced, her voice both serious and excited. "This is the largest number ever for an event organized by the club. I believe in your preparation, but also remind you that if any unexpected situation occurs, do not hesitate to call me or the teacher in charge immediately."

Exactly at eight o'clock, the school gate opened, and the first guests began to walk in - mainly parents, some people living near the school, and a few representatives from the city's Red Cross who came to observe and evaluate the program.

Thien Kim stood at her station, her heart beating fast when she saw the first group of guests — about five or six parents, some of whom were with small children — approaching her tent after completing the registration at the information booth.

"Hello everyone," she began, her voice shaking slightly in the first sentence but quickly settling as she remembered all the rehearsals in front of the mirror, before Tuyet Mai, before Minh Vu. "My name is Thien Kim, today I will guide everyone on how to handle a situation where a child is choking on a foreign object — one of the most common emergency situations that parents can encounter."

She took a deep breath, then began to tell her story — the story of little Bin, of the frozen moment three years ago, of the neighbor who promptly handled it properly while she stood motionless, not knowing what to do. Her voice trembled in some parts, especially when talking about the moment she saw baby Bin's pale face, but she did not stop and continued to tell the story until the end.

"I don't tell this story to make people pity me," she said, ending the introduction, looking straight at the parents who were listening attentively. "But because I want everyone to understand how scary the feeling of helplessness in that moment is, and why it's so important to know how to handle it in advance. Three years ago, if I knew what I'm about to teach everyone today, maybe I wouldn't have had to go through the obsession that lasted all those years."

A few parents in the group nodded slightly, their eyes full of sympathy. A young mother, carrying a little girl about two years old, even had tears in her eyes. “Thank you for sharing your story,” she said. "I also went through a similar situation with my older child, luckily I was able to handle it in time. But I've never studied methodically like this."

Strengthened by that encouragement, Thien Kim continued the technical instruction, using mannequins simulating infants and older children to demonstrate step by step: how to identify signs of truly dangerous foreign body choking, back pat and chest compression techniques for children under one year old, Heimlich technique for older children, and equally important, when to call an ambulance immediately instead of handling it yourself.

She invited each parent to practice directly on the dummy, patiently correcting each small movement, just like how Minh Vu patiently guided her in the first practice sessions. When a young father performed a movement that was too light and didn't have enough force to simulate the effect, she gently instructed: "Don't be afraid to use more force, with a dummy it's okay, but in a real situation, a force that's too light may not be enough to push the object out."

Throughout the morning, Thien Kim continuously guided four different groups of guests, each group lasting about twenty-five minutes. By the middle of the session, she felt her voice was a bit hoarse from the constant talking, but her spirit was still full of energy, different from the usual physical fatigue — this was a kind of exhaustion that brought a sense of deep satisfaction.

Minh Vu, in charge of the CPR station nearby, occasionally glanced over to observe her, and during a short break between two groups of customers, he took the opportunity to run over and give her a bottle of water.

"You did great," he said, his voice filled with undisguised pride. "I heard your story sharing in the group just now. It was really touching."

"Thank you," Thien Kim replied, taking a sip of water, feeling warmed by that compliment. "I'm still a little nervous every time I start, but it gets easier as time goes on."

"That's normal," Minh Vu laughed. "The first time doing anything is the same. But looking at you now, no one would think this is the first time you've taught a class for strangers."

At noon, the organizers paused the activities for about forty-five minutes so everyone could have lunch and rest. Thien Kim sat with a group of club friends under the shade of trees in the school yard, eating prepared lunch boxes, exchanging interesting stories they had met in the morning.

"This morning I had an elderly man come to ask about how to handle an elderly person falling and bleeding from the head," Duc said, his voice excited. "He said all his children and grandchildren were working far away, and only he and his wife lived together, so he was very worried. After I gave instructions, he thanked me profusely and said he would tell the whole neighborhood."

"The blood donation station is also very crowded in the morning," Trang contributed. "More than fifty people have registered to donate blood, exceeding the initial target we set."

Hearing those stories, Thien Kim felt a sense of pride spread throughout her body — not only for her own work, but because the entire club team had come together to create something truly meaningful for the community, far beyond what she had imagined when she first stepped into the school's medical room three months ago.

In the afternoon, the stream of people coming to participate in the event became more and more crowded than initially expected. Thien Kim continued to guide three more groups of guests, each time adjusting the presentation slightly to better suit each different target group - some were young mothers who had just given birth to their first children, some were elderly grandparents, and even a group of young students stopped by curiously.

By late afternoon, as the sunlight began to cool down, Thien Kim had guided a total of about forty parents and residents, a number she never dared to imagine she could achieve just three months ago, when she was a shivering body frozen in front of a lifeless CPR mannequin.

In the last group of guests of the afternoon, there was a boy about ten years old with his mother. His eyes lit up with curiosity when he saw a mannequin simulating a newborn baby placed on the table. "Sister, can I try?" the boy timidly asked, making Thien Kim laugh at his eagerness.

"Okay," she replied, lowering herself to the boy's level, her voice becoming gentler and more patient than when instructing an adult. "But first, do you know why you need to learn this? It's not to scare you, but because maybe in the future you can help your younger siblings, or friends around you."

The boy nodded attentively, and Thien Kim guided each step slowly and simply, using words that were much easier to understand than the way she explained to adults. When the boy completed the movement correctly, his eyes lit up with pride and turned to look at his mother as if he wanted to show off his achievement.

"Thank you very much," the mother said to Thien Kim, her voice emotional. "The boy will probably tell this story to his grandparents all week from now on. Your explanation is so easy to understand, even adults like me will find many things enlightening."

That small moment, although not in the original plan, made Thien Kim feel more touched than the compliments from adults throughout the day. She realized that imparting knowledge goes beyond helping others know how to handle a particular situation, and can also instill in a ten-year-old child the belief that he or she has the ability to help others — a seed that, who knows, years later, will grow into something much more meaningful.

When the last group of guests left, Thien Kim stood silently for a moment under the tent roof, looking out at the schoolyard, which was still bustling with people passing by in other areas. She used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her forehead, clearly feeling the fatigue of her legs after standing almost continuously for eight hours, but inside she was filled with a feeling of fullness and contentment that she had rarely felt in the past three years - the feeling of someone who used her own old wounds to soothe, to protect others from having to go through the same thing.