Finally, freedom!

BY RANI JHALA

Two years had passed since the birth of our children. Born on the same day, they had shared much and were connected in a way that few siblings would be. Their life was united and echoed each other’s; their moments were unified and reflected their twin’s. They were conjoined sisters, connect at their side and stomach.

They shared a common history, a common past, but bound together day and night, they often wrestled to be free. Sometimes while one rested, the other wanted to play or when the first cried in the procedure. The pain that it would cause, the loss of blood that would result and the immense risks as each tried to stand on their own feet, breaking away from the support they had always received from each other. hunger, the second wished to enjoy her slumber. The language we spoke to them was the same, but each comprehended it differently. Often they were drawn to different friends, yet due to their physical limitations, one always had to follow her twin’s playmates instead of her own.

We were lucky that apart from a few organs, each had the capacity to be separated, yet retain a complete set of organs. Though still early in its development, the doctors felt the surgery was worth attempting for as our children grew, their conflicting needs and wants would make an undivided lifestyle unbearable for both.

Astrologers were consulted and while both were twins, those few seconds between their birth times drew different horoscopes. The auspicious days conflicted and we were left in a quarry. The good time for one, would mean the bad time for another! Our specialist came to the rescue. Midnight! The moment that belong to both days, yet where neither could claim the hour.

The preparation was abound with mixed feelings. It was the best for their future, but as parents could we bear the division or watch the agony they would have to endure? And while the doctors assured us that essentially each could survive without the other, yet they spoke of doing that which had never been done before. History was being made in separating siblings born of the same mother.

Even at that young age when we could lift them together, we had found it hard to show affection for one without the other feeling left out. Who could we hug first, who should we cuddle next? Finally as they grew older, we realised that as much as they were a part of each other, the road before them would be unmanageable unless they were separated. The doctor, who would be credited for shaping their future, took the decision for us.

Our heartache was unimaginable when the medical team spoke of the dangers of

And so at the stroke of the midnight, “while the world slept” two souls were carved out of the one entity.

The operation itself was a success. The surgeons had managed to keep separate most of their organs to make them into two complete individuals. Their skin was the only organ that was difficult to divide, for it was fused. After the division new skin was grafted onto the bare spots, taken from other parts of their little bodies. These would leave scars, but in time we were told, new skin would grow and the scarring would fade. It would never disappear but it would become almost invisible. While we would have wanted them to have as close to a perfect body as possible, a few scars was a small price to pay for what they were being offered. Freedom!

What followed next made us realise that we were naïve to fear the operation; it was the post-operative period that presented the greatest risks – loss of blood, rejection, pain and heartache. We fluctuated between elation one day at seeing them move, to tearful sobbing the next day at the sight of our helpless children crying in pain.

We kept telling ourselves that the pain was worth what their new life was going to offer them. That is was essential for their future progress. We often questioned if we had done the right thing when we saw each reach for their sibling and fret at not finding their other half. But to heal properly they had to be kept separated. The railings of their cots ensured that even in their sleep they could not go near the other.

My husband and I became spectators to a strange game. Our children were being born again, but this time, the journey was theirs to undertake. I did not have the labour pains, nor was I able to give them sustenance. All the duties that had been ours, the hospital took on as their own. Mistakes were made, for they did not know our children as we did, but luckily they were not catastrophic. I remember once, them pushing our shy daughter to take the lead while holding back the one that naturally enjoyed being the leader. Once the roles were swapped, our shy baby followed her courageous twin and also began to walk.

I remember those first steps as if it was yesterday. Each rose on their feet, yet reached out for the other, forgetting that they were now separated and needed to find their own strength. I remember the first smile as they realised that for the first time in their lives, one could cuddle her father while the other could hug her mum. I remember the joy as they played with their separate toys and as they frolicked with their own set of friends.

And I have memorised the moment when

I realised that for all the pain and heartache, the moment of separation was worth it. My daughters were two individual beings now, growing up beautifully, and making choices that suited their individual needs. They have different friends, have different interests and sometimes even compete with each other when once they had fought as one.

Tomorrow they will marry and set up their own homes. They will follow different paths in their quest to establish their individuality. They may fight and they will surely argue, but deep within they will always know that they share the same blood. And symbolically they still remain joined at the side.

While the separation was filled with danger, I know now of the merits it has brought. I see two beautiful children growing in confidence and living separate lives and enjoying their independence.