Chapter 5 — The First Heartbeat

Three weeks have passed since Thien Kim joined the Red Cross Club, and she realized she has formed a new rhythm of life revolving around Thursday activities and Tuesday voluntary practice sessions. Her first aid notebook is now thicker not only because of the technical procedures she transcribes, but also because of the short notes she writes every night, jotting down some little thing she learned about herself during the day.

This week's session was announced in advance as an informal comprehensive test — an emergency simulation session that combined many of the skills learned: scene assessment, bandaging, and CPR, all in one continuous scenario instead of separate sections like before.

"Don't worry, this isn't a real exam," Minh Vu reassured the group as everyone gathered in the medical room, their faces looking more nervous than usual. "It's just a way for us to see how well we can connect the skills together. It's okay to make mistakes, this is the time to make mistakes, so we know where we need to practice more before taking the real exam at the end of the semester."

The script is divided into small rotating groups, each group will face a hypothetical situation staged by Ms. Hoa and Minh Vu, while the rest observe and take notes. Thien Kim was placed in the third group, meaning she had time to observe the previous two groups in action before it was her turn.

The first group faced a situation where a hypothetical "victim" — essentially a role-playing club member — fell off his bike, had a bleeding knee wound, and showed signs of mild shock. Thien Kim observed attentively, taking note of each treatment step: first assessing the scene, checking the victim's reaction, stopping the bleeding with clean gauze, and calming the mind while waiting for assistance.

The second group faces a more difficult situation: a "victim" who is unconscious for unknown reasons, needs to have their breathing assessed, placed in a recovery position if they are breathing, or CPR initiated if they have stopped breathing. Thien Kim felt her heart beat faster as she watched, even though she was just watching and not directly participating. She wondered if it was her turn to freeze again like the last CPR practice session.

When it was Thien Kim's group's turn, including her, Duc, and another male named Phong, the situation presented was: a student (played by Hanh) sitting in class suddenly had a mild convulsion due to high fever, fell off his chair, and lightly hit his head on the edge of the table.

As soon as the situation started, Thien Kim felt her heart rate skyrocket and her breathing became more rapid. But this time, instead of letting panic take over completely, she remembered what Minh Vu had said in the previous practice session: take a few seconds to observe the overall situation before acting.

She took a breath, quickly looked around - there was no further danger, the surrounding tables and chairs had been neatly arranged - then approached the "victim". "Don't hold her arms or legs tightly," she told Duc, who was planning to hold Hanh's hand down. "Just clear away the surrounding obstructions, put something soft under his head to avoid further impact, and wait for the seizure to pass."

Duc nodded and followed her instructions. Phong quickly put his jacket under Hanh's head. Thien Kim kept track of the time with the clock on the wall, waiting for the "seizure" — according to the script — to end in about thirty seconds.

When Hanh, according to the script, gradually "woke up" from her drowsy state, Thien Kim gently placed her in a safe side-lying position, examined the small wound on her head caused by hitting the edge of the table, and used clean gauze to gently press to stop the bleeding. "Dear, can you hear me? I'm Thien Kim, you were just slightly shocked, you're safe now," she said in a reassuring voice, just like Minh Vu taught — always keeping verbal contact with the victim, even when they're not fully awake.

She turned to Phong. "Call Ms. Hoa or call an ambulance for me. Please tell me that a friend had a seizure due to high fever. He is awake now but needs further monitoring."

The whole process took about three minutes, but for Thien Kim, those were three minutes when she felt like she really had control over the situation - not a stiff control, stubbornly following each step mechanically like before, but a flexible control, knowing how to listen to the actual situation and adjust accordingly.

When the script ended, Hanh stood up from the "victim" role, smiling brightly. "It feels good to be taken care of," she joked, making the group laugh, dispelling some of the tension.

Minh Vu, standing and observing with Ms. Hoa in the corner of the room, nodded in approval. "Very good job," he said, his eyes directed straight at Thien Kim. "Especially the part where you stopped Duc from holding her arms and legs tightly - that's a very common mistake, many people think it's correct to hold the person tight and convulse, but actually doing so can cause bone and joint injuries."

"I read that in a document last week," Thien Kim explained, trying to hide the joy welling up in her heart.

"Reading is one thing, remembering it when you need it is another thing," Ms. Hoa contributed, smiling kindly. "I see you've improved a lot compared to three weeks ago, Thien Kim."

The compliment from Ms. Hoa, combined with Minh Vu's appreciative gaze, made Thien Kim feel a strange feeling welling up in her heart — not the usual joy of being complimented, but a deeper feeling, as if for the first time in a long time, she felt like her efforts were being recognized for their true value, not because she had done it to absolute perfection, but because she had tried and made progress.

The activity continued with the remaining groups, and Thien Kim, now having completed her part, was able to observe others in a much more relaxed mood, even giving gentle suggestions when asked for her opinion. She realized that, when she was no longer completely dominated by the fear of her own perfection, she could observe and learn from others in a much more open way.

At the end of the session, Minh Vu gathered the group together to summarize. “Overall, every group did well today,” he said, his voice filled with pride. "There are a few more points to note. I will send the summary documents via group chat later. But the most important thing I want to say is - three weeks ago, when the club first started, many of you were quite confused, some of you even doubted whether you were suitable for this club." His eyes glanced at Thien Kim for a short moment, not to criticize, but as an implicit reminder that only the two of them understood. "But today, looking at how everyone handled the situation, I feel proud of the group's progress. This is just the beginning, there is still a lot to learn, but I believe our club is on the right track."

After the activity ended, Thien Kim walked home with Tuyet Mai, who was waiting at the school gate as usual because their houses were close together.

"Looking at your face makes me so happy," Tuyet Mai commented, linking arms with her best friend. "Did something good happen today?"

Thien Kim recounted the entire practice session, with a rare excited voice, from the way she stopped Duc from holding the "victim's" arms and legs tightly, to the compliments from Ms. Hoa and Minh Vu. Tuyet Mai listened attentively, occasionally nodding in approval.

"You know what," Tuyet Mai said when Thien Kim finished, her voice lowered a bit, more serious. "This is the first time in three years I've seen you talk about first aid without sounding nervous or scared. Before, every time you mentioned these things, your voice always sounded like you were preparing for a battle. But today, you sounded... like you were actually enjoying it."

Thien Kim paused for a moment, pondering your comment. She realized Tuyet Mai was right - during the past three years, learning first aid had always had a heavy tone for her, like a fight for survival against invisible fear, but never a real joy. But today, for the first time, she felt the pure excitement of learning something new, of seeing herself improve, of being recognized not for being perfect but for trying.

"I think... I'm starting to feel like I belong there," Thien Kim said slowly, as if she was discovering this for the first time while saying it out loud. "Not because I'm already good, but because... people there don't expect me to be perfect from the beginning. They just expect me to try, and improve gradually."

"That's what I always wanted you to understand," Tuyet Mai smiled, squeezing her friend's hand. "You don't have to be perfect to deserve to be anywhere, Thien Kim. There has never been such a need."

That evening, as she sat at her desk, Thien Kim opened her first aid notebook, flipped to a new page, looked back at all the small lines she had written over the past three weeks — from the hesitant first line the night after the first activity, to the notes about each time she did wrong and then did it right, each time she froze and then overcame.

She picked up the pen and wrote down a new line, this time without any hesitation in each stroke: "Three weeks ago, I walked into this club with an unnamed fear, not knowing what to call it other than the feeling that I would never be good enough. Today, for the first time, I feel like I can belong here — not because I'm perfect, but because I dared to let myself be imperfect, and keep trying."

She read that line once, twice, then closed the notebook and placed it next to the personal first aid bag that was always neatly placed on the desk. For the first time in a long time, she went to bed without checking that bag a third or fourth time like old habit — not because she had completely stopped worrying, but because, at least for tonight, she allowed herself to believe that she didn't need to have absolute control over everything to sleep peacefully.

Outside the window, the late moonlight gently shone into the room, and in her sleep that night, Thien Kim no longer dreamed of old fears, but of something much gentler — of a roll of gauze wrapped just tight enough, of a steady heartbeat under her palm, and of the appreciative smile of a person whom she, without daring to admit it clearly to herself, had begun to look forward to seeing again every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon of the week.