I never really did like group physical training (PT). Part of the reason is that I often felt I could push myself harder alone and therefore make better use of my time. That wasn’t the case in Airborne and Air Assault schools and during counterdrug training; I had all I could handle and then some. Climbing a mountain with a group of other Soldiers while carrying a stretcher laden with body weight and ammunition may be the closest I’ve come to death before now. Honestly, the main reason I don’t like group PT is that I’m not in control. As I’ve said before, it’s a character flaw I’m working on.
So you might guess how I felt this week during “exercise group,” an hour-long workout session for stem cell transplant patients that is offered three days a week at the hospital. I reluctantly went into the class not expecting much. What I got in return was a very humbling experience.
Imagine me sitting in a circle, wearing mask, gloves, and a protective gown, along with a bunch of other patients, mostly middle age women, and the physical therapist. (No offense intended; just describing the situation.) We start stretching and doing light movements with our arms and legs, including some “cardio” that begs thoughts of Richard Simmons. I didn’t expect a difficult workout and, in fact, I’m not up for one yet, but I also didn’t expect a Jack Lalanne fitness session, either. We were conducting no-resistance movements to a Pandora mix that was heavy on the Michael Jackson when it hit me: “My, so this is what I’ve become…”
It wasn’t all that long ago when I was running races, sometimes even placing in the smaller ones. I dabbled in CrossFit and could ace the Army’s PT test. Now, I’m reduced to light exercises performed from my chair. I can’t even use resistance bands in the class because my platelets are too low. I weighed in today at 133 lbs, a full 20+ pounds down from normal. I’m still losing weight, too, because the sores in my mouth and throat make it painful to swallow. In a word, I’m humbled.
“So humble yourselves under the mighty power of God, and at the right time he will lift you up in honor.” (1 Peter 5:6, NLT)
I wrote before about my identity in Christ in “Mistaken Identity.” But this week was different. It’s approaching nine months since I was diagnosed and a year since I felt normal. It seems so long ago since I was able to do anything other than walk and a few pushups. There is so much more to life than my fitness level, to be sure. What this week was to me, rather, was a good reminder of who I really am when every superficial thing is stripped away.
Nobody calls me “colonel” anymore, or asks me to go for a run. No one asks for help or advice at work. But my sweet Emmy still calls me “Daddy” and is proud to show me her drawings. Abrie seemed to recognize me when she visited for the first time. The other day she sat contently in my lap for a while. What a blessing. Christi still tells me she loves me and misses me, and I know she means it. God still calls me “son.” He means it, too.
In spite of all this, we continue to have hope. My throat is a little better today and my white counts are gradually coming up. In fact, the doctor told me I might be able to get out of the hospital later this week if the current trend continues and I remain infection-free. That would be an incredible blessing.
At my core, I am a son and a husband and a father. It doesn’t matter that I’m doing beginner exercises; what matters is that I’m doing somethingand get better over time. It doesn’t matter that I weight less than a sack of potatoes; what matters is that I don’t stay here for long. It also doesn’t matter that the Soldier is sidelined; what matters is that Christ is still doing a good work in and though me. What matters is that which is important in God’s eyes. If I remain humble, then He will lift me up.
Thanks Jeff! This post spoke directly to me! Praying for your quick recovery!
F. Bates
Thanks, Fred. I appreciate that.