When Hannah and I went for our 20 week scan in 2012 we were having the usual discussions that all couples have. The topics of conversation were about whether we should find out about the sex of the baby, what names we liked, how Abigail would react to having a brother or sister. Most of all we were so excited to be adding to the family.

Nothing prepared us for the sonographer saying "Just bear with me a minute, I need to get a senior colleague to look at this." In that moment we both knew there was a problem and both of us felt like we'd had the wind kicked out of us.

That was the start of visits to the Fetal medicine unit in Birmingham; a specialist care unit dealing with difficult pregnancies. On our first visit we met the specialist who would be dealing with our case and he scanned Hannah using a machine enabling him to see all of the organs and vessels of our new baby in more detail. His conclusion was that the problem could be one of two things. Most likely was a hematoma on the placenta that should not interfere with the pregnancy. Secondly, it could be a Chorioangioma; a rare tumour on the placenta affecting 1 in 20, 000 pregnancies. The professor was keen to stress that even if it was the latter then only 1 in 1000 needed anything more than monitoring. More would be found out on our second visit the week afterwards. 

In between visits I reverted to Google to find out how I could fix everything, as is my usual way, only to find out that I couldn't. I discovered that the Professor dealing with our case was regarded as being just about the best there is on the continent so we were somewhat reassured. The second visit to Birmingham confirmed our fears and the diagnosis was a large Chorioangioma. Statistics mean very little when you become the 1 in 2 million chance. The tumour was large; large enough to cause multiple issues and even at this stage we were told we would require constant monitoring and probable intervention at some stage. The tumour was causing our little girl's (we knew she was a girl by this point) heart to have to work harder to pump the blood around the tumour. Our first target was to make it to 24 weeks (a viable fetus) without losing our baby. The condition also causes too much fluid in the amniotic sac which can early labour. From this point on it is difficult to describe what followed. The following weeks were filled with hospital visits, weekly at first for scans, increasing in frequency throughout the pregnancy. When our baby started to struggle at 27 weeks and we were told her heart was failing we were given the survival statistics and had the words 1 in 3 resounding in our heads for the next few days. Hannah had drugs to reduce the fluid as well as 2 courses of steroids to build the baby's lungs as it was now increasingly likely to be a premature birth. They admitted Hannah into hospital at 29 weeks (much to Abigail's disgust) and gave our little girl a blood transfusion in utero (!!) in an attempt to overcome severe fetal anemia and buy us some more time. However, at 30 weeks they decided the odds of a living child were slightly better if she were delivered and after 10 days of Hannah being in hospital, Abigail and me fending for ourselves and traveling to Selly Oak every day they delivered Imogen by C Section.

When she was born she weighed 3lb 3oz and lost a lot of that in the first few days as she lost fluid so she was down to 2lb 3oz and not eating at one stage as she was unable to tolerate any feed. However, due to the care of the ICU at Birmingham they managed to feed her 0.5ml of milk every 3 hours in order to build her up. After weeks of monitoring and lots of new terminology for us - desat, Kangaroo care, etc. etc. they were able to move Imogen to Stafford Special Care Baby Unit and begin her journey home. She made it home just in time for Christmas and hasn't looked back since. This was the most tired I had ever been in my life, but we stayed up that night looking at our little wonder child.

So 3 years on and I am fulfilling my promise to the hospital to try and do something to raise some money for them. I am 3 stone lighter and determined to show some of the fighting spirit that Imogen has shown over the last 3 years. Let me be absolutely clear about one thing; I do not enjoy running, I do it because I love food and because it is more socially acceptable than slapping stupid people. Mostly I am doing it for Imogen and for anybody else that may end up in similar situations. 

The Fetal Medicine unit saved Imogen's life, without any doubt. If it wasn't for them and the work they do then we wouldn't be celebrating the 3rd birthday of our lively, chatty little nutcase this October, we would be remembering our loss. So if you can afford to give anything then please do. If you are curious to see whether I can run 13 miles, then you are in good company as I am not sure myself at this point. Regardless, just give me a £1 and we'll find out together. If your situation leaves you in the position of being unable to give me any money just please spare me a thought on the race days. Of course, you are all welcome to support me in the form of running alongside me and physically dragging me along the street should that become necessary, but I'm not expecting many takers for that level of support!

 Thank you for listening.