“There was no rushing, no buttons being pushed, no alarms or calls for help.”

After being diagnosed with unexplained infertility, Ben and Katie got pregnant via IVF in 2018. But on the day Katie was due to be induced, they were given the heartbreaking news their baby’s heart had stopped beating. Ben is running the LLHM 2024 in honour of his wife and daughter.

Ready to start a family

My wife Katie and I got married in 2012. We were both in our 30s, so we knew starting a family was high on the agenda. We took a ‘let's see what happens’ approach to family planning, but a couple months of nothing turned into 6, then 12. We then allowed ourselves to accept we needed to have a slightly more focused effort. It took a few more years of trying naturally, before we turned to science to help us get pregnant.

We were diagnosed with unexplained infertility but told we had a good chance of success, despite being older.

Feeling hopeful

We were hopeful, if a little naïve to what the process was going to take out of us. We both had a healthy sense of dark humour as the IVF process kicked in, finding levity in moments you shouldn't.

Katie got pregnant in the summer of 2018, and she was brilliant. Alongside all the usual challenges faced when pregnant, the IVF process adds an additional level, as drugs are used to trick the body until it also realises you're pregnant. This involved me having to inject Katie in the bottom with hormones daily.

For Katie it was brutal, but she never complained. The pregnancy had a couple of hiccups along the way, like a bleed in the night, but they were worked through, and we were reassured by the professionals we saw.

Preparing to be induced

It was April 2019 before we knew it and Katie was into week 39. I was still at work, jumping at every phone ring or notification, while Katie was calmly waddling between consultant and midwife appointments. On 17 April while at such an appointment, it was agreed Katie would be induced the following day, having been on the monitor and reassured all was well. She was told to head home, pack, and rest as best she could to return the following morning.

I left the office to whoops and shouts from loving and excited colleagues, who all knew the time it had taken to get here.

We arrived at the maternity unit on Thursday 19 April. We were excited. Nervous, but excited.

We were led to a bed on the maternity unit, Katie was asked to lie down, and the midwife did a bedside ultrasound. He didn't say anything, he didn't have to. We knew something was wrong, and a wrong that there was no saving us from.

There was no rushing, no buttons being pushed, no alarms or calls for help.

We were moved to a private room, neither of us saying anything nor being told anything. After a third different person had done an ultrasound, we were told that our baby's heart had stopped beating. We were broken.

Running for Ottilie

This year, I'm running the London Landmarks Half Marathon. I run for Ottilie Eve Ingram. I run for Katie. I run for myself. I run for family and friends. I run for Tommy's.