The Morning After The Day Before

Although I had topped up both my UK and Belgian phones in anticipation of the post-viva communication flux, I hadn't quite forseen the 63 text messages and 5 incoming roaming calls that required a response and both phones ran out of credit rather more quickly than I had anticipated. I appologise profusely to those of you whom I didn't manage to reply to yesterday evening with the outcome of my viva. But I shall make you wait no longer... Pew has indeed been awarded "doctorandus" status after 4 gruelling hours of inquisition *grin*

The whole ordeal hasn't quite sunk in yet. Instead of a wild night of celebrating, I crash-landed on my mates' bed around midnight, after a few beers that went straight to my head. The fact that I'd only managed to get down one toast all day probably didn't help. After a few hours of feverish sleep, I found myself awake at 4a.m. physically sobbing for a good half hour. It's all rather pathetic, but I suspect the stress had really gotten to me rather a lot more than I was aware of.

Though the relief is tremendous, I can honestly say that this PhD viva is one of the more traumatic experiences in my life so far. I had planned to write a humoristic account of the whole procedure, but I simply can't get myself to do so at this point just yet. While the viva process might be considered a "formality" procedure, the fact of the matter is that when you're locked into a room with two interrogators, formality or not, you have to live up to the standard of degree you're about to be rewarded and swallow any criticism (positive or negative) these people choose to dish out.

I can count myself lucky with two examiners who had a genuine interest in the subject matter but it inevitably meant they'd combed through my thesis in an extensively detailed fashion. While they repeatedly pointed out to me that I'd managed to achieve a tremendous amount of work and that they considered the work to be of an excellent standard of which I should be proud, I found it hard to take that on board while I was sat there trying to bounce back all the challenges they threw my way. It is ridiculously hard to think on your feet for four whole hours. Especially if one examiner is a physicist and the other's a physiologist and both are keen to test your knowledge on their respective fields to the limit.

I was offered a cookie by one of them at one point because I apparently looked like I was about to pass out. I sure felt like I was going to, but declined the cookie all the same for fear of not being able to hold it down. I'm sure with enough therapy I'll come to terms with the inevitable aggressive nature of the viva line of questioning and my own insecurities related to it all ;-)

There is, however, one particular incident during the whole ordeal, which makes me feel all riled up thinking back on it now. I don't deal well with imposed authority at the best of times, but a viva puts you in this incredibly vulnerable superior-inferior position: you need to do your best to defend your own viewpoint but ensure not to cross your examiners. So inevitably, out of politeness, you swallow a few comments which you normally wouldn't let someone get away with. At one point, one of my examiners pointed out a spelling mistake in what I consider to be a rather derisory way and as most of you are aware, I'm particularly touchy about this type of stuff. I am all up for constructive criticism when it comes to my use of the English language, but I had to do my very best to stop the stroppy rebellious foreigner in me from shouting: "I'd like to see you write a 37,000 word thesis in a language that's not your own and see you succeed with a mere three spelling mistakes, you effin' wanker." Of course I didn't shout *grin*. And the guy most definitely doesn't deserve the label wanker, because both of my examiners were actually top blokes who strangely managed to combine the sort of "I'm pushing you in a corner now, but I'm still smiling at you nicely to put you at ease" type of attitudes. Once my stress-levels have resettled I'm sure I'll realise that the spelling comment wasn't meant in a derisory fashion at all. But part of me wishes I had stood up and shouted "wanker" or "twat" at no one in particular every now and then. It would certainly have released some tension. People with Tourettes must thrive at vivas, what with the repeated excusable release of frustration by expletives *grin*

RAAAAAH

Anyway, I need to get the built-up energy out of my system today. The shedule as it stands starts off with a Champagne drink in the lab courtesy of Steve, who'd been so thoughtful as to put Champagne on ice in case of a good outcome, but had equally stashed a bottle of Jagermeister in his drawer in case of a bad outcome. Thinking like a true mate there, bud ;-)
Then there's a wee goodbye lunch with my prof, which will be sad because I have really enjoyed working with him. And then I have to hand in my key-fob, which will mark the defo ending of my time here at the PGM. I'm driving straight to Manchester afterwards to meet an old friend and to beat off the blues.

Good times gone past, good times just around the corner.

(PS: I will have to post a wee pic sometime this week of the lil prezzie that Disco had made for me. It's particularly fitting)