It’s a long chain of events, but to clear out the spare room I need to make space in the filing cabinet downstairs. This dusty old heap of metal hasn’t been touched in years, so I knew it would be a big job.
The photo above shows what I have collected for recycling so far. It feels like a lifetime of paperwork.
But, importantly, it’s also helped me put some things in order.
I’ve cleared out my massive medical file, and divided it up into separate categories. Now I have a normal sized medical file, three pregnancy files and a “Medical – RPL” file. I wanted to keep healthy pregnancy records away from RPL records.
I’ve extracted all my scans, notes, hospital admission and discharge info, testing results and more, and collected it together in one place, in date order. I cried over some of it. I miss, miss, miss the baby boy that I lost last year. For some reason, even though that miscarriage was not as physically traumatic as the other late first trimester one I had, I have a lot more grief surrounding it. I found a scan photo in an envelope that the hospital gave me before my admission for surgical management (the one that never happened), and I didn’t even know I had it. My tiny baby boy – I love him so much!
I also sorted through all the notes for this pregnancy, and do you know what I noticed? I got the first, faint, positive pregnancy test for this pregnancy exactly 1 year and 1 day after the scan that told me my baby boy’s heart had suddenly stopped. I missed my period this year on the very day that I spontaneously miscarried my baby last year. It’s just so strange, the passing of time.
I feel so sad today that he left us, and so guilty about it because I have a new baby to focus on (I think I felt the first tiny kick late last night). The joy and loss are jostling around together inside and it’s a strange thing. One doesn’t replace the other.
On a less emotional front, I also recycled all of my old work papers from the job I left two years ago. I had a lot of internal conflict over leaving a well-paid job to be “just” a housewife, but I think I’m past that now. I don’t need to hold on to all those payslips to prove I was worth something once.
So there we go. A day of growth, and a day of grieving. But most of all, a day of finding some closure and moving forward. Of putting my affairs in order and embracing the future.
That’s the problem with this whole decluttering lark. It’s a lot tougher than you ever expect it to be.