Across the parking lot, through the sliding glass doors, into the waiting room.
"WE'VE GOT A STAT!" someone yelled. "IT'S A LITTLE GIRL!"
I was 18 years old but it didn't matter. Small enough to be mistaken for a child, and large enough to break a grown man's heart.
How do you know when you have the strength to walk your readers through those emergency room doors?
You will know.
You will whisper in the darkness, "It will be OK. I promise. We're going to make it through this."