I assisted in the first real emergency I had ever encountered. It was a sunny afternoon when my family visited my uncle’s home in Batangas City. As the heat intensified across the Philippines, Filipino traditions remained warmer than the scorching sun itself. However, the reunion we were having was cut short by a cry for help. A neighbor from across my uncle’s home came running and, in tears, shouting “Tulong! Tulong!” (Help! Help!) as she carried her three-year-old daughter.

Some of my family members rushed to see what was happening, and so did I. As a nursing student, a part of me quietly had been preparing for a moment like this. You can’t blame me; nursing students live for the chance to put our training into action. And in that moment, I silently thanked God that I chose this path. I saw the child trembling, her body shaking as her mother held her. When I touched her forehead, it was burning hot. I asked what happened, and she said, “Ang taas ng lagnat niya, nagulat ako, bigla na lang siyang nanginig” (Her fever was so high, I was shocked she suddenly started shaking).

I glanced at my phone—2:17 p.m. I stood frozen for a second, but I held on to what I had learned in class. I positioned the child on her side to keep her airway clear, using my hands to cushion her head. In the middle of it, I heard relatives saying to put a spoon in her mouth to stop her from biting her tongue. I firmly said, “Wag po,” because that could cause more harm. Her mother reached for a towel, ready to sponge her with ice water, but I told her we shouldn’t move the child while the seizure was still happening and that we should let it run its course.

As saliva slowly came out of her mouth, I told them to call for emergency help immediately, because seconds in those moments felt like minutes. The seizure seemed to last forever, but I knew it was fear that was stretching time. A quiet truth sat heavy in my chest. I was afraid. Afraid that if things got worse, I might not be enough. That everything I had learned would fall short when it mattered most. I took back the silent confidence I had earlier. I even began to doubt God, wondering if I had really chosen the right path. But still, I stood firm. I did what I could, with what I knew, and with the heart I had.

At 2:26 p.m., the seizure stopped. Just moments later, a neighbor’s car pulled up to take them to the hospital. I was determined to join them, scared that if I let her go, the seizure might come back. But with the limited space and the number of relatives she had, I stepped back, held the mother’s hand, and reminded her to tell the doctor and nurses what time the seizure started and that it ended at exactly 2:26 p.m. My heart was pounding, and even now, as I type this, my hands sweat remembering that moment. We went home that night, and for days, I heard nothing.

A week later, my uncle gave me the news that the child was okay. He told me that the seizure had been caused by the heat and high fever, and it might have worsened due to a lack of hydration. He said that the mother expressed her thanks, invited us back for the next fiesta, and shared a message with me, “Galingan mo raw sa iskul, ipagnu-nursing niya raw 'yung anak niya dahil sa’yo.” (Do your best in school. She wants her daughter to take up nursing someday because of you.) Although I never got to speak with her directly again, I asked my uncle to tell her to let her daughter choose the path she truly wants and to always prioritize her health above all else.

In that moment of panic, I realized that our hands carry more than just skill. It is with these hands that we provide safety, calm amidst chaos, and care in times of distress. It is also with our hands that we fight misinformation and protect others from harm, not just through action, but through truth and guidance. That day, I saw how these hands, although still learning, still growing, could make a difference. I may not have had all the answers, but I knew I was doing my best with what I had learned so far. As a nursing student, I carry with these hands not only the lessons from books, but the responsibility to care with courage.

I may not be a nurse yet, and God knows I doubt easily, but that experience reminded me why I chose this path. Not to be perfect, but to do my best with what I knew, and with the heart I had.