Max gasped as he saw his own naked body in the mirror, or what remained of it. His arms ended in rounded stumps at the elbows. And his legs didn't even reach down to where his knees used to be. They were of an equally short length as Max's arms. Each stump ended clean and smooth without any visible scaring, as if he'd been born this way.
“Your father worked very hard to save as much as possible. And look how nicely it healed,” his mother said, as if pointing out a silver lining. She stroked the stump of his leg. It felt... wrong. “Naturally, you've been under for quite some time, to help you avoid any pain from the healing process. I know it must be quite a shock to you, but we've come to accept you like this. And I still think you're my beautiful son.”
“I might have saved a centimeter to two more of your legs. Especially the left,” his father explained, “But the asymmetry would have made it a lot more difficult for you to learn how to walk again. This way, you'll have equal length limbs all around to help you walk.”
“Don't you mean crawl?” Kenneth asked, innocently.
“Well, yes. Obviously he'll never walk like a person again, but we don't need to be so crass about it,” his father explained. “But it reminds me. Max, I also had your neck slightly altered to make it easier for you to live on all fours. I changes a bit of the jointing of the spine and neck. Now you can be on all fours, yet be able to look straight ahead without straining your neck, like we need to when looking up.”
Max wanted to scream at them. To demand where his limbs were. To ask how long he'd been under for. To yell for them to cover him back up with the blanket. And to tell them to stop holding up that mirror. He didn't want to see himself like this! But he couldn't find the words. He understood perfectly what they were saying to him, but Max just wasn't able to say a single word. It wasn't that his voice didn't work; that worked fine, producing whining noises as he started to break down into tears.
“Oh, Max. It's okay,” his mother cooed, lifting up a large stuffed teddybear for him. It only depressed him more that the stuffed toy was actually slightly larger than himself now. Even it's limbs reached slightly further. But though he felt envy for the anatomy of the bear, he couldn't help but hug it back, as it's arms were placed around him. Or at least, he hugged it as best he could, with the stumps of his arms and legs, and burning his face in it's fur to sob. Comforted despite it all by its soft fur against his pink, skin.
“You've probably noticed that you're having trouble speaking,” his father said, taking on the demeanor of a professional again. Max looked up at him with wet eyes. “I'm afraid that's permanent too. The accident caused some brain damage. The part of your brain that deals with conveying complex communication was seriously injured and we had to remove that part completely to prevent the internal bleeding.”
“In other words, the part of the brain that used to let you speak or write a word without having to consider the sounds or grammar involved is gone. It also let you associate meaning to spelling, writing or drawing intuitively. It is physically impossible for you to talk anymore. And even if you still had arms, even writing your own name would be impossible. You can still understand us and appreciate art, but you can not make it yourself. Those are different parts of the brain. Other brain functions may also have been impaired. It isn't clear yet. But I think you're out of danger at least. I don't think we'll need to fix anything else in there.”
Max stared at him in shock. His father sought for better ways to explain it. He leaned in closer. “Try to say the word, potato.”
Max sniffed and tried to repeat it, but his intention wasn't being communicated to his mouth. In desperation, he forced out “Aaahngaa.” His cheeks burned red with the humiliation and realization. He started to cry even harder.
“Conveying complicated messages may be beyond you now, but don't worry. You can still make simple sounds and show your mood reasonably.”
“Like a doggy,” Kenneth added helpfully.
“Exactly,” their father said. “And it will all be fine, because we'll all pitch in to help you adjust and to take good care of you from now on.”
“Your father did a great work your head surgery. See, you can't even see the scars anymore. It's like you've always been this way,” his mother said. “We've even done work on the house to make it more accessible for you. You've got nothing to worry about.” Max didn't believe them. His life was over. He hugged the teddybear. The only one there who seemed to understand him.