My husband and I have become a little bit obsessed with
viability.
Now that we have hit the 23 week mark, my hubby, the king of
charts and graphs and metrics, pulled out a viability calendar to scrutinize.
At 23 weeks, Clark has a 10 to 30 percent chance or survival
if he were born today. The positive percentages go up exponentially with each
week after this one. In a week or two he will have a 50/50 chance of survival.
The thought hit me and the words were out of my mouth before
I could swallow them: “That gives him 10 to 30 percent more of a chance of
survival at 23 weeks than his brothers had at full term.”
I’m right. The fact that this fact is true is an aching scar
on my heart. I think I have only recently come around to the realization that
my boys had no chance at life. Of course I knew this when we terminated,
especially with Drew. But there is knowing something and then knowing something
in your whole self. I had convinced myself that my boys had no chance and now I
know that to be fact.
It makes me glad for Clark, that he has a chance, no matter
how small, of survival. But it makes me want to cry and scream at the
unfairness of it for John and Drew. How do you come to terms with your babies
having never been given even the slimmest chance?
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