Let’s talk about what it feels like to see that dreaded negative pregnancy test. When you’re so invested in the process of trying to get pregnant, a negative result can really knock the wind out of you – something I learned the hard way. Here’s how my first negative result played out for me.  

I’m not a religious person or a spiritual person. Before starting on this road, I would have said I was never in tune with my body. As Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory once said, “My body and I have a relationship that works best when we maintain a cool, wary distance from each other.” Ain’t that the truth.   

After my first IUI attempt, I didn’t really know what to watch for. I don’t know if I was ever pregnant to begin with but do I know that as of Day Six, I was sure what my test results would be. Ten days before I received them.   

The night of Day Five I texted my sister in the middle of the night, tears pouring down my face, because I knew I wasn’t pregnant. I’d experienced some light spotting in the days after my IUI (that’s a good thing) but on that particular day, I felt like my insides were twisting and didn’t think it could mean anything positive. What’s more, the light, excited feeling I’d had since the IUI procedure completely disappeared like a switch being flipped.    

My sister did what anyone would. Told me it was far too early. My symptoms were normal, there was no way to tell, I had to wait for the blood test, blah blah blah. And she was absolutely right about everything she said. The logical side of my brain glomped on to those calm words because they made sense to rational me. But that damn little internal voice we all have was like, “Nah girl, you’re out of it this time.”  

That side of me was completely right. Ten days later I confirmed with a blood test that I wasn’t pregnant. My first IUI round had been a failure. And even though I knew it was coming, knew in the most visceral part of my gut and had prepped my family and friends for days despite their well-intentioned denials, even then I was devastated.   

Because when a doctor tells you no there’s no more room for hope.   

Then you have to figure out how to handle the aftermath while dealing with the fact that you aren’t pregnant. Those feelings might fall into a few camps.  

What to expect after you get confirmation of a failed pregnancy attempt 

1. You probably have people on your team cheering you on. You might experience the very weird feeling that you let them down in some way, as if you could have controlled your body and this outcome. These are the people that are on your side no matter what. Only wanting to support you and love you. And still, there’s this unsettling feeling of not wanting to tell them because once you do, it’s real. This round is over. You’re done.  

    

2. You probably have a sympathetic nurse. I hated this part most. I’ve had to call in to get my blood test results over the phone before and the process is pretty simple. You call, give your name, ask for your results, and it’s a quick conversation with the secretary. This time, I was on hold for a minute or two before being transferred to a nurse. As if I even needed to hear the words, “You’re not pregnant” at that point. Then comes the platitudes and well-meaning advice about trying again. I know they meant well but it was like salt on a wound when all I wanted was neutrally delivered medical information and a quick hang up.    

    

3. You probably have your own goblins. Yeah, you know the ones in your head telling you all the crap you try to drown out. You could have done this better. You did something wrong. You won’t have better luck next time. You were always headed here. Of all the voices going through your head when you get a negative pregnancy result, it’s the goblins that do to the most damage. 

I’m sure many women deal with the fall out of a negative test differently, but I’d like to recommend a box of chocolates, a terrible rom com or horror movie keyed up (there is no in-between), and wine. Because you’re probably going to feel awful. And for me at least, I didn’t want to talk about it or be near people. I had friends texting, knowing today was the test day, trying to be supportive. And I didn’t want to talk to them. To tell them. To make it real.   

Because I didn’t know how to process it myself. As someone who isn’t intune with my body, I now know what a negative result feels like. I know what not being pregnant feels like.   

And it fucking sucks.  

So, remind yourself, sometimes things just happen. It’s no one fault. It’s definitely not mine. It’s certainly not yours. Don’t feel bad if you have to say, “Today I’m not ok because of something that never existed and I need you to respect that.”  

Take some time. Regroup. Mourn. Maybe take a break and come back stronger. Because this isn’t a sprint. Becoming a single mom alone is a marathon. And we can all do this.