Last night, my four-year-old daughter had an accident. Playing in the living room before supper, she tripped, fell against a hard corner of the couch and knocked one of her front teeth loose.
Once the flow of blood had been stanched, the tears dried and the ice pack placed firmly against her swiftly swelling lip, I shared with her the story of a similar accident I’d had when I was about her age. I’d been fooling around near the TV when I tripped and landed hard against the edge of the TV stand, pushing one of my teeth through my lower lip. I told her I could still remember the shock, the pain, and especially all the blood.
I also shared with her the story of how her big brother, just a few years ago, had scraped his nose on exactly the same part of the couch where she had just left a smear of blood. I told her how he’d cried, and been scared, and how it had taken most of the rest of the summer for the mark to fade.
While these little stories didn’t make the pain go away or put her tooth back in place, my daughter seemed to derive considerable comfort from hearing them.
Last week, my students at the MIC had their final interpreting exams. As I sat there in the examination room and listened to the proceedings, I was reminded of my own final exam experience.
I recalled the dreams I’d had in the run-up to exam week, in which the booths were falling down around me, there were students crawling in and out of the windows of the (fifth floor) exam room, and the sound was coming through my headphones all muffled, and yet I managed to soldier on (I guess that’s the power of positive thinking at work!).
I remembered how I’d felt so light-headed before going into my first consecutive exam that I’d had to squat on the floor in the room next to the exams and put my head between my knees so I wouldn’t pass out. I remembered desperately trying to recall those deep breathing exercises that our voice coach had drilled into us over the previous weeks and months, and wondering where everything I had learned about stress management had gone.
I remembered hearing the sound of my voice coming through the microphone, about three octaves higher than usual, during my first simultaneous exam and wondering if the examiners could make out any words in all that squeaking.
And finally, I thought back to the topics of the speeches given at my exams. As I listened last week to speakers giving exposés on the evils of Lactobacillus casei and the benefits of letting your kid play with a power drill (not in the same speech, of course), I remembered the speeches that had been served up at my own finals.
In one speech, I got to hear about the Bosman ruling (a heady mix of football jargon and EU regulations on the free movement of workers). In another, it was the recent IPO of a promising German tech start-up that took center stage. Another speech was about the Elgin Marbles (which a classmate misheard as “les fraises du Parthénon”, leaving her wondering why all the fuss about a bunch of fruit). Yet another speech discussed the Maltese duck hunters’ opposition to joining the EU. And there were a few more that I’ve completely blocked out.
Last week, as I remembered all of this, I decided it was important to share my own traumatic exam experience with students and readers. Because let’s face it: even when you pass your interpreting exams, they’re still traumatic. One dictionary defines trauma as “a deeply distressing or disturbing experience”, and I think that just about sums up how I felt.
So yes, I suffered through my exams. Yes, I was nervous and stressed. Yes, I had crazy exam dreams. Yes, I had a few of those black-out moments when I thought the speaker was speaking Chinese (which is not in my language combination, in case you’re wondering). And you know what? Every single other conference interpreter I have ever discussed this subject with did, too. And we all lived to tell the tale.
So what’s next?
Now that the final exams are over, students may hope that the worst is behind them. Unfortunately, that’s not true. Equally, if not more, traumatic experiences may await them as budding conference interpreters. If they plan to work at an international institution, they will have to go through the stress of a formal exam situation all over again, and then withstand the pressure of regular peer reporting. If they plan to work on the private market, they will have to prove their worth over and over again, every time they get into the booth or pull out their notepad for a new client. So it’s not all smooth sailing from here on in.
Just like my daughter is likely to get a few more bumps and bruises as she navigates through her remaining childhood years, my former students, most now graduates with a diploma under their arm, still have their share of interpreting-related trauma to undergo. Hopefully, knowing that they’re not the only ones to go through it will make the journey a little more bearable.
Very wise of you to share experiences. We can all identify common elements in our reactions to situations, learn and derive comfort and corroboration that we are not the only ones going through a trauma, and it will definitely help us to cope with subsequent bumps in the road of any nature.
Thanks – I appreciate reading about your experiences, too!
Wow, I read this thanks to another interpreting. You just hit the spot, the terror of those moments in Salle 7 was awful and I hope I never repeat the experience.
It seems that passing exams is like passing our driving test. We pass our test then we learn to drive
That’s so true! My instructors told me at the end of the course, “Congratulations, you passed. Now go out there and learn how to interpret.” 😉
We had our exams last week and I totally agree with Donald’s comment… I feel the same way I felt when I got my driving license: glad and afraid to take the wheel at the same time. =)
Very nice blog, by the way. I’ve been reading it for a while and I really like it!
Thanks very much for your kind words. To continue the analogy I used in my post, the same probably happens when you become a parent. “Here´s your baby, now go and learn how to be a mom!” 😉
Thank you for this. In less than a month I will be taking the Texas BEI certification test. Already I’m having the crazy dreams. But now I know the worst is ahead of me, not behind me. LOL. Like everything else, I tell myself that in five years, this will be but a lesser memory so why stress about it now? Again, thanks for the article. Good luck to your students.
Good luck to you! Thanks for the comments.
Oh, I remember the months after my exams I dreamed over and over that I was still there, in the university, and that I had not pass and had to take the exam again. So, even if the relief of having pass is so big, the trauma is still there. I am now wondering if that’s the reason for the passive attitude of some of us while looking for a job as an interpreter after having passed the final exam. For me, it has taken almost a year to take it seriously and work on it :S
That’s an interesting idea – we’re so traumatised by the training/exam experience that we’re afraid to actually get into the booth? If that’s the case, then maybe trainers should start rethinking things a bit!