Patrick and Diane from the office came by after hearing I’d been hospitalized.
The look on their faces when they walked in almost broke me.
I don’t think either of them expected to see me like this, swallowed by the hospital bed, my stomach so enormous it rose above the blanket like a weight pressing me deeper and deeper into the mattress. The moment I tried speaking, Patrick immediately told me not to force it. My breaths kept catching halfway, shallow and uneven from the pressure crushing against my diaphragm. Even talking for too long left me dizzy.
I used to lead meetings. Used to command entire project teams with a single glance. People waited for my approval before making decisions.
Now I need nurses to help reposition me because the weight of my swollen abdomen has made it impossible to move properly on my own. I can’t even sit up without assistance some days. All I could do while Patrick and Duane stood beside the bed was answer softly, obediently, almost pathetically, while they checked whether I was still functioning.
I hated how weak I sounded.
Back when I first announced the pregnancy, the office treated it like gossip. Something strange but temporary. People laughed nervously, congratulated me awkwardly, asked if I’d still be managing the upcoming projects.
Then my body started changing.
The days I had to grip tables just to stay standing during presentations.
That’s when the panic started.
I could see it in everyone’s faces whenever I struggled to cross the office floor without trembling. Conversations would stop the moment I lowered myself carefully into a chair, one hand under the massive curve of my stomach like I was trying to physically carry the burden myself.
Eventually HR called me in.
They were gentle about it. Too gentle.
“Maybe it would be best if you stepped down temporarily.”
“Just until things stabilize.”
“We’re concerned about your condition.”
That was the word they kept using while stripping responsibilities away from me piece by piece until I was no longer the project manager anymore. Just the assistant. The fragile pregnant employee everyone watched with cautious eyes, waiting for him to collapse.
And maybe they were right.
Because look at me now. Hospitalized. Barely able to breathe properly beneath the crushing weight of this pregnancy. Reduced to lying helplessly while coworkers stare at my stomach in stunned silence.
Before leaving, Patrick took photos of me holding the flower bouquet they brought. I tried smiling for the camera even though I looked exhausted and swollen beyond recognition.
By tomorrow morning, the entire office will probably see them.
The former project manager.
Pinned to a hospital bed.
Too weak to even sit up straight on his own anymore.
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