Chapter 6 — The First Heartbeat

Part II — First Lessons

October begins with sudden showers in Hanoi, making the yard of Phan Dinh Phung High School often wet at the end of school. For the Red Cross Club, this is also the time to start a more serious learning period - no longer just acquaintance sessions and introduction of basic skills, but a period of building a truly solid foundation to prepare for the basic first aid certification exam at the school level at the end of the semester.

"From this week, we will learn more deeply about CPR," Minh Vu announced during an activity at the beginning of the month, standing in front of a whiteboard with a diagram of the human chest already drawn. "Not only knowing how to do chest compressions at the right rhythm, but also understanding why we do it, so that when we encounter situations that are different from what we learn in books, we still know how to improvise."

He explained the chain of survival — four consecutive links: early recognition and calling for help, early CPR, early defibrillation if an AED is available, and post-resuscitation care. “Each link is equally important,” he said. "If one link is weak, the whole chain will be weak. That's why we not only learn to do chest compressions, but also how to properly call for help, how to use an AED if one is available, and how to monitor the victim after they regain consciousness."

Thien Kim carefully recorded every detail, but this time, instead of just taking mechanical notes like before, she began to ask more questions — about the optimal frequency of chest compressions, about why compression depth needs to be at least five centimeters in adults but only about a third of the chest diameter in young children, about the difference between cardiac arrest and simple respiratory arrest.

"You ask a lot of questions," Minh Vu commented after class, when they both stayed behind to collect their tools as had become a habit in recent weeks. "But I like your way of asking. Not asking to prove you know, but asking because you really want to understand."

"I just don't want to learn by rote," Thien Kim replied, neatly packing the tapes into the box. "If I only remember the steps without understanding why, when the time comes a slightly different situation, I'm afraid I won't know what to do."

"That's right," Minh Vu nodded in agreement. "Actually, that's also the reason I prefer being the president of this club rather than simply being a member. Teaching others forces you to understand more deeply, not just remember the mechanics."

Tuesday's voluntary practice sessions gradually became the time Thien Kim looked forward to the most during the week, even though she didn't dare admit it even to herself. The small practice group now only has her and Minh Vu regularly present — Hanh has moved to a different practice schedule because of extra class hours, and the other members rarely persevere in participating regularly.

One Tuesday afternoon, when the pouring rain outside the window made the medical room more cozy than usual, Minh Vu brought out another CPR mannequin, one with an electronic sensor connected to an application on the phone, which can measure the exact pressure, speed, and depth of each compression.

"This club just asked for sponsorship from the parents' association," he explained, connecting the phone to the dummy. "Now we can know exactly how right we are, no need to guess anymore."

Thien Kim practiced first, and this time, there was no more freezing feeling like the first time. She knelt down, placed her hands in the right position, and began to compress her heart to the rhythm she had practiced skillfully over the past few weeks. At the end of thirty compressions, the phone screen displayed the results: an average speed of one hundred and eight times per minute, an average depth of five point two centimeters — both indicators were within the standard range.

"Excellent!" Minh Vu shouted, unable to hide his excitement. "Look, you did it right. From someone who was completely frozen to someone who reached standard in just a few weeks, this progress is remarkable."

Thien Kim felt her cheeks heat up, not only because of the compliment, but also because of the way Minh Vu looked at her at that moment — eyes shining with pride, like a teacher who is truly happy to see his student progress, but also something a little warmer than a normal teacher's eyes, even though she wasn't sure if she was reading the wrong signals or not.

"It's your turn to try," she said, trying to divert attention from herself.

Minh Vu knelt down to practice, his movements were so proficient that he almost didn't need to think, the results appeared on the screen: one hundred and twelve times a minute, a depth of five point eight centimeters, completely meeting the standard without question. But what caught Thien Kim's attention the most was not the result, but the way he performed it - gently, almost comfortably, without any tension, as if the movement had become part of his instincts.

"How long have you been practicing this to get so good?" she asked, unable to hide her admiration.

"Since 9th grade, after the story my grandfather told me the other day," Minh Vu replied, standing up and brushing dust from the knees of his pants. "It's been almost four years. But actually, don't think you have to practice for four years to reach that level. The important thing is not the time, but whether you practice properly and regularly. You've only been studying for a few weeks and you've already reached the standard, faster than many people I've taught."

After practicing CPR, the two moved on to review bandaging skills, this time with more complex situations: pressure bandages to stop bleeding for heavily bleeding wounds, how to recognize and handle hemorrhagic shock, and how to safely transport victims when spinal injuries are suspected.

"This part is very important," Minh Vu emphasized, his voice serious. "If you suspect the victim has a spinal injury, absolutely do not move them unless there is an immediate danger to life, such as fire, explosion or flooding. Moving incorrectly can cause a minor injury to become permanent spinal cord damage."

Thien Kim listened attentively, took careful notes, but also felt a familiar anxiety creeping back. "But how can I know for sure whether there is a spinal injury or not, if not a doctor?" she asked.

"That's why when in doubt, it's best not to move," Minh Vu replied. "You don't need to be 100% sure. As long as there are signs of doubt - such as the victim falling from a height, a high-speed traffic accident, or complaining of pain in the neck or back - then just handle it in the most cautious way, maintain the same position, call emergency services, and reassure the victim while waiting."

"But what if waiting makes the situation worse?" Thien Kim continued asking, her voice a bit tense.

Minh Vu stopped, looked at her for a moment, realizing that this was no longer simply a theoretical question. "Thien Kim," he said, his voice softer. "I think you're trying to find an absolutely right answer for every situation, a formula that never fails. But first aid isn't math. It's a series of making the best possible decisions given limited information. Sometimes you'll be right, sometimes you'll be wrong, but as long as you do the best you can based on what you know at the time, that's doing the right thing, no matter what the end result."

That sentence made Thien Kim silent for a long time, a familiar feeling of insecurity rising in her heart, but this time, mixed in there was something else - a vague realization that perhaps, her constant search for a perfect, absolutely correct answer for every situation, was the deep source of her constant anxiety, not only in first aid, but in almost every aspect of life.

"I think... I always try to find a way to make sure I'm never wrong," she said slowly, as if she were discovering this for herself for the first time. "But hearing you say that, I realized maybe that's impossible."

"That's right," Minh Vu nodded, his eyes gentle. "And I think, once you accept that — that you'll be wrong sometimes, that you won't know for sure, but still act on your best judgment — you'll feel a lot lighter. Not because you care less about the outcome, but because you're no longer holding yourself to an unattainable standard."

The practice session ended later than usual that day. They both walked out of the medical room when it was dark, the rain had stopped but the air was still a bit chilly and had the characteristic damp smell of the first rains of the season. Minh Vu offered to go with Thien Kim to the bus stop because the paths were the same, and they walked slowly together, talking about things unrelated to first aid — about their favorite subjects, about their plans after graduation, about the movies they had both watched recently.

That was the first time Thien Kim realized that, in addition to being the calm and competent club leader, Minh Vu was also a friend of the same age with normal interests and everyday stories like everyone else - and she found herself liking that everyday version of him no less than the dedicated club president that she had admired since her first lessons.

That night, when she got home, Thien Kim opened her notebook, but this time, instead of writing about a technical lesson or a moment of overcoming fear, she wrote a completely different line, much more hesitant than the previous lines: "Today I realized, maybe I don't just like this club because of what I learned. I'm not sure how to continue writing, but I think, I need time to better understand what this feeling is."

She looked at that line for a long time, feeling her cheeks heat up even though she was alone in the room. Then she closed the notebook and placed it on the table with a small, unknown smile flashing across her lips.