The Call That Broke Me (Again): When Hope Crumbles in Real Time

It was supposed to be the call with numbers. Maybe even a little hope.Instead, it was a call that gutted me.

I was pacing. Holding my breath. Clutching my phone like it held the future. And then, the Embryo Grading Results were delivered…“Two embryos are abnormal. One is inconclusive.”

That was it. No exclamation. No good news voice. Just… that. And in that moment, it felt like hope got yanked right out of my chest.

Part I: Everything in Me Froze

I couldn’t process anything after he said it. I heard words — something about stats, something about the inconclusive one possibly not being viable — but my brain just… fogged.

All I could hear was:It didn’t work. Again.The small thread of hope I had been holding onto for weeks just unraveled completely.

I sat there, holding my phone like it might say something else. Like maybe I misunderstood.

Part II: The Spiral Starts So Fast

Within seconds, my mind flipped the switch:“Okay. Guess I need to look into adoption.”“Should I go back to work?”“Why isn’t my body doing what it’s supposed to do?”“What is wrong with me?”

I went from heartbreak to panic to complete confusion in the span of a minute. That’s what failed IVF feels like sometimes — like grief and adrenaline are crashing into each other.

I felt numb. Then I couldn’t breathe. Then I was sobbing.Then I was completely still.

Part III: What They Don’t Tell You About This Part

No one prepares you for what happens after the bad news. Not really.Not the silence after the call.Not the whiplash of planning a life that now won’t exist.Not the shame that creeps in, even when you know it’s not your fault.

And definitely not the identity crisis that follows. Because when you’ve spent years inside this process — meds, appointments, diets, schedules, surgeries — it becomes your life. And when it crashes, you’re not just grieving the embryos. You’re grieving the version of you that believed this round was it.

Part IV: If You're in the Grief Fog Right Now

Let me say this first: You are not alone.

You’re not broken.You’re not “too emotional.”You don’t need to rush to the next plan.And you don’t owe anyone an answer right now.

If all you did today was breathe and cry and scroll aimlessly — that’s enough.

I know it’s tempting to turn the grief into a task. (“Okay, now we try this…”) But please — give yourself a moment to just feel.Grief doesn’t like being skipped. And your body is already doing so much.

What Helped Me (Even a Little):

• Writing everything down (even if it didn’t make sense)

• Getting outside — even if it was just the porch

• Talking to one safe person

• Watching something comforting

• Reminding myself: This is grief. It’s not me being weak. It’s me being human.

Have you gotten that call before?

The one that made everything feel blurry?If so — what helped you breathe through it, even a little?

Drop your thoughts in the comments. Or just say “me too.”Sometimes that’s enough to pull someone else out of the dark.