Day of Reckoning

This is it: the result of four years of formal medical education all hinges on our performance in three hours this afternoon. The sixty or so of us taking the exam this afternoon get to the hospital and wait around the lobby to be called in. We are then herded into another room, wait some more. The room is humming with anxiety; some of us chit chat to distract ourselves while others flip through pages of notes. Psychogenic diuresis kicks in, we drink more water; the toilet is in constant demand. After an eternity, we are lead out of the holding room to our respective stations. At the sound of a buzzer, the exam is officially started.

Three hours later, the last buzzer is accompanied by a collective sigh of relieve from all of us. We stream out of the hospital, some recounting the points they failed to make, some swearing they will be blind drunk tonight. I am just happy the whole thing is over.

In the evening, I join my fellow classmates at the Royal Exchange Hotel, the local watering hole frequented by college students, for a night of celebrating the end of medical school and, for many people, to say good-bye to each other. Soon enough, we will all head our separate ways.

We greet each other by a hearty “Congratulations, Dr. [insert last name]!” and point out the novelty of being called doctors. When used in front of my name, it still sounds so oddly formal. With beers in hand and over the amped up guitars by a cover band, we talk about where we will be next year, what specialties we want to go into, and the possibilities the future might bring. The buzz goes late into the night.

We have done it! I have done it! It feels surreal – to not being a student anymore, to not having to worry about studying tomorrow, to finally have a job again.