with the original Siamese twins, Eng and Chang (1811–74) – it is easy to grant each his own identity. More intimately joined twins have, however, always caused confusion. In accounts of Ritta and Christina Parodi, the girls often appear as the singular ‘Ritta-Christina’, or even ‘the girl with two heads’, rather than two girls with one body – which is what they were.
Until recently, the origin of conjoined twins has been debated in much the terms that Aristotle used: they are the result either of fusion or fission. Most medical textbooks plump for the latter. Monozygotic (identical) twins, the argument goes, aremanifestly the products of one embryo that has accidentally split into two; and if an embryo can split completely, surely it can split partially as well. This argument has the attraction of simplicity. It is also true that conjoined twins are nearly always monozygotic – they originate from a single egg fertilised by a single sperm. Yet there are several hints that monozygotic twins who are born conjoined are the result of quite different events in the first few weeks after conception than are those who are born separate.
One difference between conjoined and separate twins is that conjoined twins share a single placenta and (as they must) a single amniotic sac. Separate twins also share a single placenta, but each usually has an amniotic sac of its own as well. Since the amniotic sac forms after the placenta, this suggests that the split – if split it is – happens later in conjoined twins than in separate twins.
Another suggestive difference comes from the strange statistics of twin gender. Fifty per cent of separate monozygotic twins born are female. This is a little higher than one would expect, since, in most populations at most times, slightly fewer girls than boys are born. But in conjoined twins the skew towards femininity is overwhelming: about 77 per cent are girls. No one knows why this is so, but it neatly explains why depictions of conjoined twins – from Neolithic shrines to the
New York Post
– are so often female.
Perhaps the best reason for thinking that conjoined twins are not the result of a partially split embryo is the geometry of the twins themselves. Conjoined twins may be joined at their heads,thoraxes, abdomens or hips; they may be oriented belly to belly, side to side, or back to back; and each of these connections may be so weak that they share hardly any organs or so intimate that they share them all. It is hard to see how all this astonishing array of bodily configurations could arise by simply splitting an embryo in two.
But where are the origins of conjoined twins to be found if not in partially split embryos? Sir Thomas Browne called the womb ‘the obscure world’, and so it is – never more so than when we try to explain the creation of conjoined twins. The latest ideas suggest, however, that Aristotle’s dichotomy – fission
or
fusion – is illusory. The making of conjoined twins is, first, a matter of making two embryos out of one, and then of gluing them together. Moreover, the way in which two embryos are made out of one is nothing so crude as some sort of mechanical splitting of the embryo. It is, instead, something more subtle and interesting. Indeed, although we perceive conjoined twins as the strangest of all forms that the human body can take (as recently as 1996
The Times
referred to one pair of twins as ‘metaphysical insults’), they have shown us the devices by which our bodies are given order in the womb.
ORGANISE ME
On the seventh day after conception, a human embryo begins to dig. Though only a hollow ball made up of a hundred or so cells, it is able to embed itself in the uterine linings of its mother’s womb that are softened and swollen by the hormones of themenstrual cycle. Most of the cells in the hollow ball are occupied with the business of burrowing, but some are up to other things. They are beginning to organise themselves into