It took several minutes for Lisle to stop shaking.  Several minutes of mourning her lost thumbs, her curtailed fingers.  Several minutes of taking in the distortion of her legs.  It wouldn't change anything, she realized.  All the tears in the world wouldn't replace any of what was gone.  Perhaps she could conceal the altered legs with long pants and the right shoes, but the hands crippled her.  Maybe she could re-learn to type, with enough practice, but that would take time and opportunity.  Neither would be able to be hidden from any future lover.<br/><br/>Then, still curled into that protective ball, her voice quaked out two more questions.<br/><br/>"It's not finished, is it?"  And right on the heels of that, "What else?"