Everett’s Story
Kirsty is Everett’s mother. Kirsty shares the story of the birth of her son Everett who died after an emergency c section. Kirsty gives us insights into how she survived after loss and how she learnt to find hope and smile again after Everett’s death.
We found out we were expecting another little boy in April of 2018. We were so excited to be expanding our little family and spent the next four months dreaming of our future with another son. We planned our life as a family of four and wondered what he would be like. Would he love ice hockey like his dad? Would he be as cheeky as his brother? What colour eyes would he have?
Devastatingly we will never find out the answers to these questions.
My pregnancy overall was uncomplicated, despite being ‘high risk’ as I have Type 1 Diabetes and ITP (low blood platelets). This means I have regular scans and check-ups throughout my pregnancies with various doctors to ensure the baby is growing well.
Each scan showed everything was perfect and no issues. The only thing that was mentioned was that my placenta was anterior and low, but that was never a cause for concern. As the weeks went by, I tried to enjoy the pregnancy as much as I could despite anxiety around not yet having a birth plan in place.
My close friends threw a wonderful surprise baby sprinkle for me, we had a family ‘babymoon’ weekend away down in Berry (NSW) and had a beautiful maternity photo shoot at 35 weeks. Those photos and those moments now all hold a special place in my heart.
At 35 weeks, after finally confirming the birth plan with my doctors (I wanted to stay awake during the planned C-section and have a spinal) it was decided that I move to a bigger hospital 20 minutes away; a more advanced hospital, with highly experienced doctors and blood products on standby should they need it during surgery (due to ITP).
Preparing for the birth was so special
I was admitted to hospital two days prior to the planned c-section to prepare for his birth. I had regular monitoring via CTG scans and steroids administered to help prepare his lungs for an early arrival at exactly 37 weeks.
Looking back, I will always cherish those two nights with just him and I. There was no toddler needing my attention and nothing for me to do other than just sit and be with him. I read books, walked around and watched Netflix. Those were such precious last days together... him being comforted by my heartbeat and me feeling him move and feeling excited to finally meet him.
On the morning of the 8 August 2018, after a CTG scan showed decelerations in his heart rate, it was decided that I would need an emergency C- section that morning. My heart started racing, and in that instant I felt so confused and scared of what might happen. Despite my worries, I never thought that he could die. It’s not something you think until it happens to you.
I could still feel him moving as I hugged my belly tight. Tears started to run down my face as I contacted my husband and parents. They all rushed to the hospital.
At 12.22pm our beautiful son, Everett Dean Carleton was born, but during the operation there were unforeseen complications and devastating issues with our care that changed everything. We lost our precious little boy. Due to an active legal case I am unable to give more details at this point in time.
How could this beautiful active boy who was growing in my belly for 8 months, now be in my arms lifeless?
Soaking up every second
The room was silent when the nurse wheeled him in. It was just instant pure love as I laid my eyes on him for the first time. He was so gorgeous; big chubby cheeks, lots of reddish/brown hair and my shaped lips. He just looked like he was sleeping. He looked so peaceful.
His dad and I kissed his adorable face as our hearts broke. We were in awe of our son. I had no idea at that time what he had just been through and how hard he had tried to stay with us. Unfortunately, he was never given a chance.
Admittedly I held him with a little hesitation at first. I was still in shock and trying to make sense of it all. How could this beautiful active boy who was growing in my belly for 8 months, now be in my arms lifeless? After that initial hesitation my motherly love took over and I held him tight for the next 10 hours or so.
A midwife took photos. His Oma and Opa held him and said their goodbyes. We contacted our close friends to tell them our heartbreaking news. The next morning I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to hold him forever. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I studied his face and held his perfect little hands, wishing this was all just a bad dream, and hoping he would come back to me.
It was purely survival mode. I remember crying myself to sleep for many weeks, and waking up during the night wailing and holding my husband as we both shed tears.
Going home was so hard
There are no words to describe the feeling of leaving the hospital without your baby; to drive home with an empty car seat in the back, to see the empty bassinet in the corner and then no baby to feed once your milk comes in. It was all so SO cruel. You can’t imagine how you’ll ever get through the pain; or how you’ll ever continue on, but somehow you do.
The days and weeks after going home are somewhat of a blur to me. It was purely survival mode. I remember crying myself to sleep for many weeks, and waking up during the night wailing and holding my husband as we both shed tears.
I am so grateful for my then 3-year old, son who would come bounding in at 6am most mornings. He got me up and out of bed. He held me many times during those turbulent weeks and still does now when I have a hard day.
We had an opportunity to see Everett again after his autopsy and before cremation. His Grandparents and Uncle from America visited with us and were honoured to have met him and to tell him that they love him. His big brother finally got to hold him which was the sweetest moment, but also so heartbreaking. It wasn’t how it should have been.
In the beginning it feels like you’ll never smile again. The pain is raw and all consuming.
Over those two hours we took lots of photos as a family, got a lock of his hair, held him and sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to him. Although I'll forever wish we had many many more; these remain as some of my most cherished memories.
Letting go of him for the final time was so incredibly hard, but I'm so grateful for the funeral home director (who was a loss mum herself), who cradled him like he was her own. She told us she would take the best care of him and showed us such compassion at our most vulnerable time.
Over the past 2.5 years I’ve been through some serious mental health issues; PTSD, anxiety and PND after the birth of our 3rd boy, a result of Everett’s death. It has been a long and hard road of recovery, and is something I am still working on with the help of my psychologist and self- healing therapies.
And now that you've felt the depths of despair you’ll appreciate the little moments in life more; you’ll notice how truly beautiful a sunset can be, you won’t take for granted the time with family and friends and if you're lucky enough to have another child, you’ll relish in their giggles and their joy for life.
Navigating shock and grief
I remember looking up support groups for baby loss as I lay in hospital recovering during those first few days. I needed to know that we weren't alone in going through this and I found a lot of information on both the Bears of Hope website and SANDS.
Books on grief and baby loss helped. I also saw a counsellor regularly after 4 months for about a year.
The unwavering support from family and friends in those first few months was comforting:
We had meals dropped off
a cleaner paid for
beautiful thoughtful gifts delivered
my husband had all the time he needed off of work
people came over to just sit and be with us.
We had money lovingly given to us that we used towards a family holiday to Fiji.
I will never forget the outpouring of love during that time.
After a month or so I reached out to another bereaved mum who I knew of through a friend. This beautiful woman helped me immensely during the first year of ‘survival’. She always listened with an empathetic ear and without judgement, she knew exactly how I felt and probably knew what I needed more than I did.
Then, I was lucky to be put in contact with another loss mum close to Ev’s first birthday. We share a similar story and can relate to the many emotions surrounding our baby's death. We’ve helped each other when either one is feeling the heavy weight of grief and we continue to share and understand each other’s pain.
When you feel ready or if it feels right for you, reach out to other bereaved parents and share your story. The comfort provided from people who really understand is immeasurable.
Self-care is also important after experiencing baby loss. You are emotionally, spiritually and physically broken. Over the past two years I have learnt to give myself grace, to lean into those who continue to support us and say no to anything that doesn’t feel right. Triggers are everywhere and you need to put yourself first. Decline invitations if you need to just stay at home. Be where you feel safe and supported. Pull back on friendships or relationships that don’t nurture your grief. You and your healing are the most important thing.
Finding hope and smiling again
In the beginning it feels like you’ll never smile again. The pain is raw and all consuming. Baby loss strips you of all you once knew and of the person you once were, but as time goes on you find your new way of living.
Grief has no time limit and can sneak up on you when you least expect it, but you do learn how to cope with the waves that crash down on you.
You will one day smile again. An actual real smile. Or maybe even laugh wholeheartedly. You will learn how to live with happiness and sadness together side by side in your own time.
And now that you've felt the depths of despair you’ll appreciate the little moments in life more; you’ll notice how truly beautiful a sunset can be, you won’t take for granted the time with family and friends and if you're lucky enough to have another child, you’ll relish in their giggles and their joy for life.
A lovely friend once told me that our babies will now ‘see the world through our eyes’ and so it’s now up to us to show him.
Honouring Everett
The last time I held Everett and said goodbye I promised him that I would never forget him, and so each day I strive to keep that promise.
We have his photos up around our house, just like our other two boys.
We celebrate his birthday with cake and balloons
We have a bench seat dedicated to him at his special pond in the Botanical Gardens
We hang his stocking up at Christmas and donate gifts in his honour
We’ve raised money through Bears of Hope for a cuddle cot, and support packages to help bereaved families.
My older son speaks lovingly of him and reserves a seat for him at our dining table.
We search for him in the brightest star in the sky.
We write his name in the sand.
We will tell his new younger brother Fletcher all about him and will ensure he knows how much we all love his brother Ev.
We are currently working on ways we can honour his short life by embracing our own, and creating beautiful memories for our family by travelling the world. We’d like to own a caravan to explore Australia and also take a year off to travel the USA in a few years’ time.
A lovely friend once told me that our babies will now ‘see the world through our eyes’ and so it’s now up to us to show him. But most importantly we always mention his name, we openly discuss what he would be like now and how he would fit into our family. We share his story with those around us when we feel safe enough too...because he lived, he was here, he is SO loved and he deserves to be honoured, always.
Kirsty lives in Sydney with her husband and sons - Heath and Fletcher and continues to advocate for women and their babies to receive proper care in the public health system. You can connect with Kirsty on Instagram via @kirstycarleton.