Very remote possibility

My wife was on the procedure table, her feet hoisted up in the stirrups, a paper apron preserving her privacy, and the doctor looked at her and then at me.
"So, how many are we putting in place?" he asked.
"Three," I said, very firmly.
My wife looked at me.
"If all three become viable, we will reduce to two," I told her.
"I don't think I can do it," she said, her voice trembling, suddenly scared in the face of my determination. "I can't do it."
"I'll do it," I said. "I'll make the decision."
"The chances are very very small," the doctor said. "If I put three, you have a better chance of getting one fetus. A small chance of having two. Very small chance of three. If there's three, we'll reduce. My colleague is very good, he has done thousands of the procedure."
"Three," I said. "It's our last chance. If we don't get pregnant this time, we'll never try again."
"Alright," she said, sounding strengthened.
So the doctor took the syringe from the lab tech, and using the ultrasound he guided the long tip up into my wife's uterus and placed the three fertilized eggs into her womb.