Okay, okay, I admit it, I’m a spindly-armed weakling. At least that’s what I feel like.
Over the past two months I’ve watched my weight decline and my muscle mass dwindle (not that I had an abundance to start with). It’s a humbling thing to go through (most of this cancer experience has been humbling, not that that’s always a bad thing).
When I started this journey I was 170 lbs. The day of surgery I weighed 157. Leaving the hospital I was in the 140’s. The other day I got on a scale and weighed in at a whopping 154 lbs. So the weight’s coming back but the muscle is not . . . yet.
Being this weak and feeling this frail is a disconcerting and vulnerable place to be. If anything happened with the girls or Jen . . . well, I’d rather not think about it, but the reality is that I wouldn’t be much help. For a man, that’s just not right. I need to be the protector of my family, the rock, and right now I’m lucky to feel like a sponge.
This really reminds me how helpless and weak I am on my own, in my own strength, and how much I need to rely on God at this time. He is the protector of my family (and me) and we are all in His hands.
Get that to sink into my thick head and I’ll be okay.