Last week was not a particularly good one for me. My health wasn’t great yet nobody seemed able to pinpoint what was wrong. Midweek I visited one of my midwives who sent me to the hospital for an assessment with concerns that I was having kidney problems. Instead of making it to the maternity ward as planned, I got trapped in the vortex that was the ER and I spent 5 hours of my day with the dregs of society, having a variety of tests done which in the end revealed… nothing.
I continued to feel bad for the rest of the week and into the weekend when on Sunday some physical issues arose that could not be ignored and this time I was sent straight to the maternity ward at the hospital for a proper assessment.
The assessment showed that thankfully the baby is safe and sound and not going anywhere just yet. My health was deemed to be ok except for a few exceptions.
It would seem that since my pregnancies were so close together, my body didn’t get a chance to recover properly in the 9 short months between the end of my first pregnancy and the beginning of my second. During my first pregnancy I had some pelvic ligament issues which have been exasperated with my second. There is pain and discomfort on a daily basis – which is expected to escalate as the pregnancy progresses. But this aside, the actual issue that landed me in the assessment room in the maternity ward was apparently my body sending warning signals that I was doing “too much”.
I have been having a long standing disagreement with Steve (and my parents) about my gym routine, namely the frequency and the intensity.
I thought this assessment would be the perfect time to discuss the gym with my midwife and get it settled once and for all – with me being right of course. And wouldn’t that just show Steve and everyone else!
But when the midwife found out the frequency and intensity of my workouts (which for a “normal” person are NOT a big deal AT ALL), her eyes bugged and she shook her head.
Queue the sound of tires screeeeeeeching to a halt.
My gym routine was apparently one of the catalysts to last week’s health problems. Where I thought I was doing myself a great big favor by working my ass off – which was giving me such an awesome mental boost that I was able to somewhat ignore the screaming pain in my body – I was apparently wearing down my worn out pregnant body even further. And I was pissing off the baby too. Apparently.
Strict amendments are to be made to my workouts. Amendments so severe that I wonder if it’s even worth while to continue at the gym. I’m not to go to the gym more than 2-3 times a week and while there, I’m not to do more than 20 minutes of very light cardio at a time and then take a break before doing another 20 (if I must do another 20). I’m not to break a sweat, not to get winded, not to allow my heart rate to exceed 120bpm. Or, preferably, forfeit the gym altogether and try “prenatal yoga” or “prenatal aquafit”. (Oh, please!!!) Before all this went down, I was going to the gym 3-4 times a week, doing 45 minutes of ass kicking, sweat soaked cardio and maintained a heart rate of 150 – 160 bpm.
Bit of a cutback wouldn’t you say?
I do realize that the medical professionals know best and I must abide by what they say for the sake of my health and the baby’s health.
But, fuck. Really?
Going to the gym was that little pocket of time in my life that I could be on my own and feel like I was doing something good for my body and my mind. Oh the good it did for my mind…. And I thought this was what I needed to do in order to hold down my weight somewhat. I’m trying desperately not to gain as much weight as I did with my first pregnancy. And I thought I was doing my future, post-baby self a big favor by getting a bit of a jump start on my physical well being! I wouldn’t have to start from scratch again. Not to mention perhaps having a bit of endurance and cardio strength for labour and delivery.
But it is not to be.
I haven’t been to the gym now for over week because I wasn’t feeling well and then Sunday when I thought I’d get the go ahead I got the brakes. I can already feel a difference. My mood is more blah. I don’t have that little boost in my head that comes from doing something physical. And I’m no longer sleeping through the night. Although, yes the feeling like the baby might be born in a few hours is gone. (The regular daily pain will be with me until the baby is born. That, I just continue to deal with the best I can.)
I now sit here trying to figure out what to do next and how to best move forward. How to get back that little high that I felt from a good, decent workout - if it's even possible.