Jena M. The Over/Under A Birthday (halfway through the book) They place an embroidered yellow rose sticker on the door to alert anyone who enters of the loss. After the patient is moved from the Perot Building, which is all labor and maternity, to the Jackson Building, they affix a little heart sticker on the door. Different building, different sticker, same meaning. In another world, yellow roses and hearts are good things. I find myself hurting more for Jeff and for my mother, than for me. I told Mom numerous times to watch over Jeff because he was alone. I had a team of doctors and nurses watching over me. We named her Mattie Elizabeth. We held her tiny warm body in a tiny warm swaddling blanket, our one-pound baby girl. I gave birth to a dead baby. I don't ever want to say those words again. My water broke at 8 pm, just as the three of us were sitting down to dinner. My pants were crazily, instantly, completely soaked, and I ran to the bathroom, saying "My water broke?! How can that be?" Then I heard Jeff retching, vomiting and gagging in the guest bath. And that's when I got scared, as I listened to his agony. I began to feel something hard and firm between my legs—Mom and Jeff looked on saying, "Oh my God." "Call 911. What is happening? What is it? Is it the baby—can you see her?" "It's blue and cord like," said Mom. "Don't look," I told Jeff. "It's the umbilical cord. Call 911." Sirens outside. Mom is getting instructions from the 911 dispatcher to put her hand inside me and hold the cord, to stop it from coming. She was pale. I was trying to say Hail Mary's, but I could only remember the beginning so I just kept repeating it again and again in my head. Hail Mary, Full of Grace. The Lord is with Thee. Hail Mary, Full of Grace. The Lord is with Thee. I'm on the bathroom floor—on the green and white rug, six paramedics lift me and carry me to the gurney in the hall. The doorways are too narrow in our house to allow access. It was