The diagnosis doesn’t make sense.
That’s the thought that keeps circling. It doesn’t make sense.
I’ve built my entire life around being healthy. Strong. In control of my body. I know how it works. I know how to push it, how to recover, how to keep it running at a level most people never reach. And now my doctor is telling me that none of that matters because pregnancy just… overrides everything.
Cool. Love that.
Gestational hypertension. Even the name sounds annoying.
After I get home and cool off with a room temperature shower—the only thing that doesn’t make me nauseated at the moment—I decide to chill in my cottage with an exercise mat and a chamomile tea. My phone buzzes, dragging me out of mythoughts. I glance down and see Leigh’s name lighting up the screen.
I answer and put her on speaker so I can stretch. “Hey.”
“How did it go?” she asks immediately.
“Define ‘go.’”
“You’re stalling. What’s wrong? Do you want me to come over?”
I take a breath. “My blood pressure’s high.”
“I’m coming over.” She hangs up before I can even tell her not to bother.
As soon as she knocks, I open with, “Not, like, emergency high. Just elevated. Apparently, pregnancy can trigger something called gestational hypertension.”
Leigh is quiet for a second, which is never a great sign. “And what does that mean for you?”
“It means I’m not allowed to do my job the way I normally do it.”
“Meaning?” She sets up her laptop on my kitchen table.
“No high-intensity workouts. No heavy lifting. Basically, nothing that spikes my heart rate too much.”
Another pause. “That’s… your entire job.”
“Yeah.” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “She wants me doing yoga.”
Leigh makes a noise that sounds like she’s trying not to laugh and failing. “You hate yoga.”
“I do hate yoga.”
“You’re very bad at it.”
“I am not bad at yoga,” I snap automatically.
“You tried to out-plank a yoga instructor.”
“And I did.”
“And your abs were so smoked that you couldn’t train anyone for two days after that.” She laughs outright now, and despite everything, it pulls a reluctant smile out of me. “You walked around here all bent over like you were auditioning for a reboot of Golden Girls.”
“This is a real problem, Leigh. I don’t know how I’m supposed to work like this. My clients expect a certain level of training. My whole thing is strength.”
“And now your whole thing is adapting,” she says.
“That feels like a nice way of saying I’m screwed.”
“It’s a nice way of saying you’re going to pivot,” she corrects.
