I'm not knocking the work you've done, but pointing out that when I was working in radiotherapy in the early 90's this kind of stuff (not on bidimensional product specifically, but whatever tumor volume measures were being used at the time) was being done. I wasn't involved in any of it directly, but recall colleagues who were, more-or-less ranting on about the degree to which chance predominated.
One issue I was more involved in was that every modality (CT, MR, fluoro...) gave significantly different tumour volumes and no one knew how to reconcile them in a clinically useful way.
Given that every measure we've ever devised seems subject to similar issues, there's an argument to be made that the very concept of "tumour size" is problematic. It seems to make sense, but the edges are too fuzzy to be very diagnostically useful in a depressingly large number of cases.
This area is really neat to me because it seems at first to be easy: just take a couple of pictures, compare them, and there's the answer, right? But then you start thinking about differences in imaging modalities, contrast agents, calibration, signal processing, measurement axis, etc. and the problem becomes so hard I want to find something easier to work on.
So, a well-educated OB can be a bit casual about the exact age of the fetus because it doesn't really matter all that much.
Remember, being good at computers does not imply being good at medicine. This should be self-evident, but just a quick perusal of some comments here shows the contrary.
I find that in general with medicine my intuition battles against what my intellect knows must be the case. It's not like anything in the body is far away. Cancer isn't even very small. Isn't it weird that it's so hard to treat? Obviously it must be, but it feels like it should be easy. The patient is a foot away. We are inscrutably powerless.
When every day you command computers and they obey, when you can summon distant people and their image appears before you, when you can instantly consult more lore than in the greatest library, when you see people casually toting radiant tablets of spellbinding powers, progress in medicine feels so slow, so analog---so carnal. I know it's wrong, and we live in a world of medical miracles, with vaccines and antibiotics and DNA and everything else, but sometimes I can't help but feel that nothing has happened since Galen. It's not an argument, it's a feeling, but one with pathos that I'm sure many share.
Operating on a brain unnecessarily has its own risks.
When you say that "you can get that 25% increase purely by chance" do you mean (a) in better circumstances this should be formally impossible, or (b) the intra-observer variability is so high that there is significant (by some definition) possibility ___ of falsely detecting a 25% increase?