Take that, United States Medical Licensing Exam Step 2!

The test is over! Long over, these two weeks now. The deed is done and it cannot be undone, no matter how many anxiety dreams I had about copper chelating agents and heparin (my list of Definitely Incorrect Answers is growing by the day). My epic battle against the United States Medical Licensing Exam Step 2 is now over, and I have survived to tell the tale. It was not pretty. It was an incredibly long and exhausting day that involved me staring at a faintly flickering computer screen as eight 60 minute multiple choice tests came at me in sequence.

To illustrate the progression of my mental state during the exam process, I present a series of self portraits:

The pre-test shot.

I had just arrived, bright-eyed and well caffeinated, and was waiting outside to be called to the gauntlet.

5 hours later

This is me five hours later, on my lunch break. I had opted to power through five consecutive one hour tests, with only a brief bathroom trip to break up the fervor of my concentration. And obviously, it took its toll. My god, I look like I was run over by a large semi truck - a truck filled with questions about aquired immunodeficiency diseases and polycystic ovarian syndrome. I spent a part of my lunch break reviewing my notes on Wiskott-Aldrich Syndrome and Bruton's agammaglobulinemia, because honestly - I seemed to be getting a shockingly large number of questions on primary immunodefeciency states, rare disorders that I have never once seen or ever been asked about by anyone ever. Leave it to the boards to relentlessly dredge up the obscure. Touche, USMLE Step 2. Touche.

2 hours more

Fast-forward to the post-7 hour mark. Actually, the 8 hour mark, when you add in breaks. My main feeling at this point, strolling outside to remind myself of the existance of a world outside of the computer test room, was of exhausted resignation. One more hour... one more hour... one more hour.

Oh, and I should briefly describe the security measures that one must go through to enter and leave the testing room (aka medeival torture compound). One must show government-issued ID and sign in each time one enters or exits (even though the same nice lady has been sitting there for the past eight hours and has seen you come and go several times). Nothing is allowed in the testing room except for yourself and your issued ear phones. No extra sweaters. No watches. No chapstick. Your pockets must be empty. Its all very understandable - we are talking about an important exam, and I might easily have concealed vast notes covering all of medicine rolled up in my tube of chapstick.

And then... DONE!

In your face, USMLE Step 2! Please note: it was almost dark out. I was the last person to leave. It felt good to be done, but these things are always anticlimactic, because you feel so drained. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually drained. Every question that I had trouble with seemed to be replaying in my brain, and the long phase of second guessing began. I am only now just getting over that phase, as I wait for my score and try to convince myself to be satisfied with whatever I get.

A toast!

The final stage of Boards Day was not complete until I was warm and showered and relaxed and celebrating with a wonderful dinner and a nice big glass of wine. A toast to you, USMLE Step 2 Clinical Knowledge Exam. You were a steadfast and worthy opponent. I shall not soon forget our long and heated battle, a true battle of the wits. Who emerged the victor and who the vanquished? Only time, and a slim letter from the USMLE Board, will tell.