As I began to regain my bearings ever so slightly, a mass of questions began to swarm in my head. If I was the product of my brother’s DNA, wasn’t there a good chance that I too would die from whatever form of cancer had struck him down? But that didn’t scare me as much as the overwhelming confusion I was currently feeling about just who I was. Which part of me, of my physical self and my identity, was me and which part had come from Kyle? I was confused. Beyond confused. Confused and angry. Overriding everything was a sudden fear that I would never be able to simply be myself again. If I told the truth to anyone, then I might end up being labelled and ridiculed. I vowed that I would keep my mouth shut. I would bury the secret and I would just go on as I had been. In the morning, my parents were waiting for me at the breakfast table. “We need to work on a strategy of what we do now,” my father said. He saw the look in my eye. I was still very angry with them both. “I already have a strategy,”
