measuring the odds

One machine counts their heartbeats with implacable exatitude. The ultrasound registers their position, movements, reactivity to touch and breathing patters - even hicups. The doctors measure their tiny bones and come up with their weight, with 7% measurement margin of error. Baby A weights as much or more than 35% singletons at same gestational age - 30 weeks. Baby C scores around the 26th percentile. And Baby B, always behind their siblings, falls bellow the 10th percentile - which grants her a diagonis of "restricted growth". In fact, while her sisters are getting fat with the cocktail of nutrients flowing throught the umbelical cord, Baby B fights for what her placenta can make available - relatively less.
With all these numbers come the risk analysis. 90% of preemies born at this point will be viable - maybe with sequels to be dealt with in a lifelong journey. If we postpone birth, the pre-eclampia thickening mom's blood and weakening her liver may creep in and increase the odds of more damage. Doctors consult with each other and we, parents, have to deal with the uncertainty expressed by the probabilities and the quantified information. The heart doesn't do well with numbers: during the shadows of the day I think about my baby B, weighting less than a kilo (1 pound and 10 ounces). But then the ultrasound shows her breathing - a sequence of effortful movements opening the tiny ribcage - and I start to believe that, as her father says, that she will do just fine - because of her 100% strong determination to live.