To diminish in size or strength, typically from lack of use or nourishment.
After his injury, he had to stay in bed for weeks. He watched his leg slowly grow thinner as the muscles began to atrophy from not being used. It was hard for him, knowing that his own body part was wasting away just because he could not move it.
After six weeks in a cast, his leg looked so thin. He stared at it with a knot in his stomach. The doctor said the muscle atrophy was normal and would reverse with exercise, but seeing it so weak and small made him feel helpless.
After three months in the cast, Maria's left arm looked frighteningly thin compared to her right. The doctor explained that her muscles had begun to atrophy from lack of use, and she would need physical therapy to rebuild their strength. It would take weeks of exercise to reverse the damage.
If you never use your legs because you ride a scooter everywhere, your leg muscles might start to atrophy, shrinking away like socks that disappear in the laundry. Maybe one day, you'll look down and find tiny twigs instead of legs—just hope they don't snap while dancing!
After binge-watching TV for a month, my get-up-and-go muscle began to atrophy. This sad wasting away of my ambition left me a champion couch potato. Now my greatest physical challenge is reaching for the remote without pulling a hamstring.
The lack of exercise caused the muscles in his leg to atrophy, making it difficult for him to walk long distances.
As the elderly man lay in his hospital bed, his muscles had visibly atrophied. His once-strong biceps had become thin and frail, a testament to the relentless march of time. The attending nurse explained that this wasting away was a natural part of aging, a gradual process where the body's tissues slowly shrink and diminish.
The once vibrant garden had fallen into a state of neglect, the flowers wilting and the leaves withering away. The atrophy of the plants was a stark reminder of the owner's absence, their once green thumb now a distant memory. The once lush garden now resembled a graveyard, withered and lifeless. The atrophy of nature mirrored the decay of the owner's spirit, a haunting reminder of the inevitable passage of time. The once beautiful garden was now a haunting reminder of what happens when neglect allows life to slowly waste away.
As he awoke, a grotesque sight met his eyes. His once strong and agile body had withered away, muscles atrophied to the size of mere threads. His skin hung loosely, like an aged cloak, revealing the stark bones beneath. His face, once full of life, now resembled a skull, sunken eyes staring out from hollow sockets. The decay had progressed rapidly, leaving him a twisted mockery of his former self.
In the dark forest, the ancient tree stood tall, its branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Over the centuries, the tree had watched as the land around it decayed and crumbled. Its roots had weakened, causing the once mighty trunk to atrophy and shrink. No longer did it bloom with vibrant leaves or provide shelter for the creatures of the forest. Instead, it stood as a stark reminder of the passage of time and the inevitability of decay. But even in its diminished state, the tree still held a quiet power, its presence a haunting echo of a bygone era.
When he broke his leg and could not walk for months, he watched his muscles slowly change. The doctor explained this was atrophy, a decrease in size or wasting away of a body part that often happens when you cannot use it for a long time.
After the cast came off, I stared at my leg in disbelief. Six months of complete inactivity had left it thin and weak. The doctor explained this muscle atrophy was expected, but seeing the drastic wasting away of my own body was profoundly unsettling.
After three months in the cast, Maria's left arm looked disturbingly thin compared to her right. The doctor explained that her muscles had begun to atrophy from disuse, shrinking noticeably despite proper nutrition. Physical therapy would be essential to rebuild what her body had lost during those motionless weeks.
After months of avoiding the gym, Danny feared his once-mighty biceps would suffer atrophy, shrinking down to the size of spaghetti noodles. He joked that soon he’d need a magnifying glass to find them—unless, of course, lifting pizza slices counted as strength training.
Following a legendary two-month couch residency, my leg muscles began a startling atrophy. This complete wasting away of tissue meant my once robust pillars of mobility now possessed the structural integrity of overcooked asparagus. Standing became a theoretical exercise, best left to the ambitious.
After weeks in the hospital, Daniel noticed his leg muscles begin to atrophy, the decrease in size was unmistakable each time he glanced down. The nurses explained that without movement, parts of the body can gradually waste away, losing strength and function with alarming speed.
After months of bedrest, the resultant atrophy in his legs was palpable. His once strong limbs were now slight and frail. The doctor’s perfunctory explanation did little to assuage his fear that this debilitating wasting away might become a permanent condition.
After six months in the cast, Marcus stared at his exposed leg in dismay. The muscle had undergone severe atrophy, leaving his calf nearly half its original circumference. His doctor explained that immobilization had caused the tissue to waste away, though physical therapy could reverse the damage. Marcus felt a visceral repugnance at seeing his once strong limb reduced to something so enfeebled and withered.
After months of ignoring his dusty treadmill, Greg feared his calf muscles would atrophy, shrinking in size like forlorn balloons after a raucous birthday party. He pictured them diminishing so drastically that, upon finally exercising, only a magnifying glass could reveal their pitiful remnants.
After a fortnight of non-stop gaming, Bartholomew noted a precipitous atrophy of his non-thumb-related appendages. His corpulent form had become a mere plinth for his two magnificent, twitching thumbs, which now directed his languid existence from their Cheeto-dusted thrones.
Advanced — Less frequent words that stretch an upper-level vocabulary.