Two in a Million

CHERYL LAWLOR carries her twin girls into their bedroom for a nap, singing to them softly, “Goodnight, Amanda. Goodnight, Miss Lindsay. Goodnight ladies, it’s time to go night-night!” She kisses them and closes the door. Within 10 seconds, two heads bob up above the crib rail. The girls look at one another and giggle. They’re on their feet, standing on their mattresses, watching their own shadows on the wall. Then the shadows start to bounce, and the giggles deepen into fits of laughter. Amanda and Lindsay’s party has just begun.

Siamese twins

The twins rule the roost in the Lawlor home by virtue of numbers. There are two of nearly everything: two cribs, two high chairs, two sets of baby shoes. But it didn’t start that way. The twins began their lives with the kind of bond no parent would wish. They were conjoined.
Cheryl and Larry Lawlor waited 10 years to start their family. Cheryl, a former physical education teacher, was thrilled to learn she was carrying twins. But three weeks later, the Lawlor’s discovered the twins were attached to one another. “We were given little or no hope,” Cheryl said. “They had a 10 percent chance of survival. We were encouraged to terminate the pregnancy.”
Cheryl is the daughter of a Protestant preacher, and never believed in abortion. Her husband Larry couldn’t stop thinking about the sound of the two heartbeats. “We knew termination was the easy solution,” he said. “We were concerned about Cheryl’s health, and the future of our twins. Until we made the decision, all we felt was turmoil.”
The turning point came on Mother’s Day, one month after the diagnosis. “We were not much in the mood to go to church,” Cheryl remembered. “But we went.” At the service, a friend sang a beautiful song. “It has absolutely nothing to do with motherhood,” Cheryl said. “It just says, ‘Life is hard, and I will go through this valley, God, if you want me to’.” The message resonated with the Lawlor’s. “Larry and I sobbed. At that time we knew what God wanted us to do.”
Cheryl Lawlor said a profound sense of peace followed their decision. “It was as if the burden just lifted,” Cheryl says. “We feel privileged to have felt a peace and grace so deep. We were humbled by it.”
Unable to get the care they needed in their northern Indiana hometown, the Lawlor’s began to make regular trips south to specialists in Indianapolis.
In October of 2001, a team of doctors delivered the twins – two beautiful girls joined sternum to belly button, but otherwise healthy. Amanda Grace and Lindsay Joy shared a single, split umbilical cord and had one belly button between them. Swaddled, they looked like heart. “Straight from the heart of God,” said a family friend.

More troubles

But the challenges for the Lawlor’s weren’t over. One week after the twins were born, a tornado hit their Warsaw, Indiana neighbourhood. “The pressure got into our house, blew it out, then let it back down,” Larry recounts. Structurally, the home was ruined. The family got the bad news while they were still in Indianapolis, recovering from the birth of the twins.
 “I could not believe it,” Cheryl said. But by then, the Lawlor’s were learning to roll with the punches. “I told the pastor we always did want to do some remodelling,” Larry said with a smile. They spent the next year living with relatives, then living in rented or borrowed housing, until their home was rebuilt.
Building a new life with conjoined twins also took time. The Lawlor’s say initially the twins were easy to hold and feed. “You could balance both of them on one knee,” said Larry. But there was a learning curve on naps. “One could be sound asleep and the other could be screaming her head off!” Cheryl said. A custom car seat built for two with wide, fluted edges was ordered from Australia. But as the girls grew, their care became more difficult, and their playful tugs at one another resulted in scratches.
Specialists at Riley Hospital in Indianapolis told the Lawlor’s the ideal window for an attempt at separation was 5 to 9 months of age.
The Lawlor’s turned once again to prayer. “We asked through our church for prayers and emails,” Larry said. “We received emails from 26 states and 7 counties. We’re guessing tens of thousands of people were praying – by name – for our little girls.”

Little miracle

The night before surgery, Cheryl held her babies as a bundle for the final time. She placed them on her chest as they were sleeping, listened to their heartbeats, and closed her own eyes in prayer. “The next morning, Larry carried them down,” Cheryl remembers. “We laid them on the table. That was tough. We felt as if we were laying them on the altar. I was afraid I might never see them again.”
The Lawlors, their extended family and several close friends gathered in the hospital waiting room as the surgery began. Doctors told them it might last 8 to 12 hours. The riskiest part of surgery would be separating the one organ the girls shared, their liver.
“A nurse came in every hour to tell us what was going on,” Cheryl says. “Five and a half hours into the surgery she came out with a smile on her face. The surgery was over. The girls were in separate beds. “We did not know what to do,” Cheryl remembered. “Should we cry? Should we jump up and down? We were elated!”
Cheryl looked over at her father, the pastor, who was weeping tears of joy. “It’s a modern day miracle,” Cheryl said. “That’s how we describe it. They’re our little miracles.”
Life took on a new pace after the surgery. “All of a sudden we needed two of everything,” Cheryl said. “It was as if we’d given birth to another child.”
The girls began to show distinct personality differences. Amanda emerged the fearless child – the intrepid explorer. Lindsay was more introspective, a giggler and a Daddy’s girl.
By the time the twins were 16 months old, they were everywhere. They crawled with lightning speed, and soon learned to walk. Developmentally, they progressed at the same rate as their peers. You’d never know by looking how they began their lives. Even their scars faded to faint lines.
The Lawlors say they are grateful for the medical professionals who’ve given them two healthy children. “How do you say thank you for giving you the gift of holding your children? The gift of allowing those little hands to clutch around your neck?” Cheryl asks. “That’s what these people have done for us.”

Never boast of the morrow

The ensuing year brought further hurdles. Larry was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a form of cancer. He underwent extensive chemotherapy and was unable to work.
Family and friends from the church supported the family financially and emotionally, until Larry went into remission, regained his strength and found a new job in Indianapolis. Doctors tell him the cancer could return, but Larry says their family has placed it in God’s hands.
The twins – now a few months from turning age 3 – are happy, healthy little girls. Larry and Cheryl say they count each day a blessing, knowing how fragile life can be.
The Lawlors say their situation points up a paradox: great hardship can yield great grace. “God doesn’t promise us life is going to be easy,” Cheryl said. “God promises He is always with us.”