by Pete Hamill, New York Daily News 07-09-2003


At the end, for a few precious minutes, they were what they wanted to be: separate human beings.

For 29 years, as the world learned in the past few weeks, Laleh and Ladan Bijani had been joined at the skull. For 29 years, they were two conscious human beings, each with her own body and brain. For 29 years, they moved, or were moved, through the world as a single unit of two people.

For 29 years, they looked at other human beings and saw the way they were looked at in return. When sleeping, they dreamed separate dreams. But they were craniopagus twins, joined at the skull. For a long time, this must have been intolerable.

Certainly, they did not choose their human condition. It was an accident of birth, mysterious and appalling. They could gaze into the streets of Tehran, or sit watching television, but so many things of the world were beyond them: shopping in markets, walking through country fields, splashing in lakes, flirting with boys, dancing. Year followed year followed year. Finally, Laleh and Ladan chose together to do what they could do to be separate. At the risk of death, they would submit to radical surgery.

"If God wants us to live the rest of our lives as two separate, independent individuals," said Ladan before the operation, "we will." And so, seven months ago they traveled to Singapore. They were examined and studied while a team of surgeons, other medical experts and nurses was assembled. Plans were made. Risks were measured. Since the 1950s, there had been successful separations of the skulls of infant craniopagus twins. But in all medical history, there had never been an attempt to separate the skulls of adults.

This was infinitely more dangerous. Their skulls were older and therefore denser. From years of lying side by side, their brains were stuck together and would have to be separated millimeter by millimeter. The twins knew that one might die, or both, or that they might physically survive and still be brain-dead. In the end, they rolled the dice.

Now they are dead. They were separated at last, and then it was over.

And yet this must not be seen as a failure. Yes, the doctors and nurses wept when it was over. Yes, the Bijani family is devastated. Yes, millions of Iranians are mourning, along with many other millions around the world. All wanted this to work. All wanted to give Laleh and Ladan a morning where they could speak to each other across a sun-blessed room. They died trying to have such a moment, but this was not an exercise in futility. Their story, it seems to me, is about human valor.

Above all, the valor of the twins themselves. They must have known that they would be scrutinized by the media of the world, and they were. Initially, many people were surely repelled by what they saw. But Laleh and Ladan taught us all a lesson: There are many ways to be human.

There before us was Ladan, smiling. There was Laleh, her eyes uncertain. Individuals. Separate. Initial revulsion swiftly gave way to enormous sympathy. All notions of the "normal" are, of course, subject to revision. But those two women helped make an immense revision all over this aching planet.

And they were not alone. There also is the valor of the medical team. They were as true to their oaths as any like them on the planet. They surely knew the odds were against success. And yet, for about 100 hours beginning on Saturday night, they used everything they knew, all their skills, all their concentration, to help two human beings become more human. Some worked themselves into exhaustion - and then kept going. Some worked beyond the limits of their experience. They gave it everything they had, which is all we can ever ask of such people. At the end, they wept, too.

The ordeal is now over. But through all the tears and all the sorrow, something of supreme value continues to shine brightly. This heartbreaking drama was about life, not death.