So, here is how it went down:
Two weeks prior to my defense, I called my Oxford supervisor and asked him what I should be doing to prepare. He gave me the general run-down of the Oxford "viva," which comes from the latin "viva voce" or "lively discussion." Unlike an American PhD defense, I don't have a committee or a public presentation. In Oxford, I have one examiner from the University and one examiner from outside the University, and we sit in a closed room and they grill me for approximately 3 hours on my thesis. This format makes for a mysterious black-box process that is different for every student, and the more I asked my friends and colleagues about their own experiences with the mythical viva-beast, the more confused and uncertain I became. Some people were told immediately that they passed and proceeded to have a nice conversation about their research. Some people were brought to the point of tears. And me being me, I definitely worried.
Peter, my supervisor, made things a little more clear. A little. The first question would be something like, "Describe the main contributions of your work presented in this thesis in five minutes." or "What are you most proud of in this thesis? Least proud of?" and so forth. Fine, okay, that is something I can prepare for. This softball opening would be followed by approximately one hour of testing the breadth of my knowledge of the field and beyond. Hmmmm, now I started to sense the stirrings of panic. What exactly did he mean? Peter gave me a few example questions, probing the very periphery of my understanding of the field. While I know that a good exam figures out not just what the student knows, but also what their limits are, I really do NOT enjoy being tossed into the intellectual deep end under scrutiny. Once this hour was over, though, the rest of the viva would be talking about what research I did and my reasoning behind it... that part sounded like Christmas by comparison.
Cue ridiculous amounts of reading. Instead of downloading the most recent scientific manuscripts like many of my friends had suggested, I blitzed through the NIH library and scooped up textbooks, trying to reacquaint myself with a world of vocabulary and concepts that had faded into vague memories after months or years of disuse. MRI pulse sequence terminology, respiratory physiology, clinical stroke treatment, non-MRI imaging techniques, it was all added to the mix of busy neuron firing in my brain.
I arrived in Oxford about four days before my defense, hoping to use that time to calm my nerves and absorb the jetlag. I brought two suitcases and two carry-ons for a ten-day trip, using the free flight to transport my cast iron cookware to the UK in preparation for my move later in the year. My backpack contained two laptops (one with my thesis and figures, one with my scientific research) in anticipation of post-viva corrections, as well as a copy of my thesis and some of those textbooks I mentioned earlier. Ooof.
Everything was okay at first. I was back with Dave and other friends, life was good. But the stress was there, mulling inside me. It wasn't fear or worry that threatened to overwhelm me, but just the sheer focus of years of stress, channeled into one week of my life, one day of my life, one afternoon... so I had the obligatory cry on Dave's shoulder over the weekend. He was all sorts of supportive, letting me practice the opening "arguments" of my viva as many times as I could muster the focus for, and made sure I ate and slept properly beforehand.
Then, on Monday the 21st of February, 2011, I donned the traditional Oxford dress for examinations called "sub fusc." Of course, I hadn't been able to find my nice black trousers or button up white shirt in the pre-flight packing, and spent Sunday afternoon shopping at Marks and Spencer for the appropriate clothes. I borrowed a mortar board hat, black ribbon tie, and a postgraduate gown from friends in Dave's flat, covered everything with a winter coat and an air of confidence, and took the bus up the hill to the hospital lab.
I bumped into my friend at the hospital, who saw me through the window and burst out of the emergency door to wish me good luck with a brilliant boost of energy, and then had lunch with my friend Dan before hiding in his office and talking about the teensy scientific ERROR I had just thought of in the last chapter of my thesis. At 2pm sharp I went into the seminar room, and there my two examiners sat in suits and/or gowns peering at copies of my thesis... "Can you give us a bit more time?"
After that false start, I was soon in the midst of my viva. The opening question was as expected, and Dave had me well prepared. The general knowledge section was almost entirely overlapping with what reading I had done over the last two weeks, which was, well, exceptionally fortuitous! We had a pile of scrap paper between the three of us, and when I would get a little stuck on an answer, one would draw out a suggestion or something to help me get on the right track. Then we proceeded to go systematically through the thesis.
When did I know it was going well? About halfway through chapter 2, the external examiner said he wanted me to add a reference to this original method something-or-another, which "could just be added to my minor corrections." WOOOOHOOOOO! (Although I kept a straight face, I think!) Once we got talking about my work it was comfortable, and even enjoyable. The external examiner had yellow post-it note comments sticking out of every edge of the thesis, and we covered them all. At one point, he said something like...
"Erm, about 3 lines up from the bottom, on page 136, yes, I'm not sure what this is about, but I wrote the word 'Excellent,' so, uh, well done."
To which I replied with a sheepish smile, "Can I have that one?"
So began a habit of passing me the good, random post-its.
The viva lasted four hours, with one break for the restroom and more water. It wasn't long in a bad way, but rather it just took that long. I found it really respectful for them to give me that much attention and to really take the time to go through four years of my work, it felt like a very thorough ending to my D.Phil. experience.
At the end, I left the room exhausted, to sit quietly in Dan's office until called back in for their decision. There was a very big smile, some hand shaking, and a trip to the pub. And that was that, it was over. Dr. Molly Bright, D.Phil. (I have absolutely no idea when it will all fully sink in!)
