I had the MRI done today, then the plates and the report were sent to the Neurologist, and I had an appointment with him this arvo.

It seems there is a small “indentation” at the root of the S1 nerve on the lower spine. That's what's causing the numbness in the left foot evidently.

The Neurologist thinks this indentation was caused by aggravation during the walk. What's odd is that I had absolutely no back pain, even though I have two metal plates screwed into my lower spine from a car accident many years ago.

Anyway, the specialist believes it will heal itself in a few months. He wants to see me again in three months.

He told me not to walk long distances until then!

So it's a good outcome, and I have to say the health system worked very well. No waiting, consummate professionalism, and with the Medicare rebates, surprisingly it wasn't expensive.

Because of all the tests today, and driving back to Mudgee, I've been off the blog, but thanks to you all, especially Sister Clare and Steve, for furthering the debates in my absence!

(As I walked out of the doctors' rooms, I saw this on the road in front of me!)

Fear is pain’s oxygen.

Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of disappointment, fear of lack, fear of pain itself.

The pain I got on the Camino, when I think back on it, was fuelled by fear. I was scared of the Pyrenees. I was scared of not completing the walk. I was scared of failure. I was scared of letting myself down. I was scared of letting others down, those who believed in me and my capacity to do what I set out to do.

My fear gave my pain oxygen. It allowed it to breathe, and grow.

Fear also fuels anger. And pain LOVES anger. If fear is pain’s oxygen, then anger is its gasoline. Anger ignites pain. And rising from those raging flames, like a fetid black smoke, are injury and illness.

If I can rid myself of fear and anger, then I can rid myself of pain, injury and illness.

The Camino has helped me begin that process.

Not sure whether this is of blog-worthy interest…

But, I had an EMG today. I told them they should call it the Abu Ghraib clinic… Didn't get a laugh.

Needles into the muscles, turn up the voltage. “Do you need something to bite down on Bill? No? After this we'll try water boarding…”

Haha – not quite that bad.

Seems its not an entrapped nerve in the leg, it's something to do with a nerve coming from my spine – the S1 nerve. Aggravated by the walk, they suspect.

So I have to have an MRI tomorrow. Then back to the Neurologist again.

So anyone thinking of doing the Camino – budget airfares, accommodation, meals each day, and medical bills afterwards!

I’m handing the blog over to Sister Clare today –

I need some time to finish my book, (hopefully I will finish it today, or at least this first draft), and I have these further medical tests later today as well.

I have told her she can post any topic she wishes…

So thank you Sister Clare –

Today I had an appointment with a Neurologist about this numbness in my foot, as a result of my walk.

He did extensive tests, and now wants me to have an EMG (electromyography) to check the electrical conductivity of the nerves in my leg.

He suspects it’s an impaired or damaged nerve somewhere in my knee. This is my left knee, not the right knee that gave me so many problems.

So, waiting to see when those tests will be.

I’m relieved at this news. It could have been a lot worse…

PS – just found out I will have the EMG done tomorrow arvo…

Anyone who’s walked the Camino will know this – after you return home, weeks and months and possible years later, you get flashes of moments during your pilgrimage that, at the time, seemed inconsequential. Yet later, those moments take on new meaning.

That happened to me just now.

I remember walking out of Ciraqui early one morning, before sunrise. It was at a stage in the walk where I was in enormous pain from my knee. I was walking along a very narrow track, studded with rocks. An old Roman track. And each step hurt like hell, because I was treading on these big clumps of rock.

Because it was dark still, I had my headlamp on, and I could only see a short distance in front of me. But it seemed that this track just went on and on… It wasn’t going to end soon.

But then on the edge of the lamp’s throw I thought I saw a track running parallel. A paved track. There was brush in between though, and a big ditch, and I couldn’t quite see it clearly. I certainly couldn’t get to it.

I kept walking on this hard and difficult rock strewn track. That’s where the yellow arrows had pointed me, and they were still there, letting me know I was going the right way.

But still every now and then I got a glimpse of this level paved track on the other side of the brush and the ditch.

I finally found a gap in the brush and I climbed the ditch, and looked ahead of me. The track was paved. It was level, and it seemed to be running parallel to the rocky path.

But there were no yellow arrows.

I was worried that it might veer off and lead in the wrong direction, and then I’d have to back track.

So I went back through the gap in the brush and continued on the hard and difficult way. Each step excruciating because of my knee.

Finally, I thought: This is really stupid. The clear path must be a new path. It must be part of the Camino. So I found a way through the brush. over the ditch, and I began walking on the paved track.

Immediately my knee felt better. And I began to walk with greater ease.

After about a kilometre or so I saw a yellow arrow. It had been a new path, and it was the Camino, and all that time I’d been trudging along the rocky difficult path.

So this morning, it came to me out of the blue, (my PGS!) how like life that was.

We spend all our time struggling through difficulty, hauling ourselves painfully along a particular path because we believe that’s the right way to go – that’s the way we’ve been directed to go. And yet right beside us, within our sight, is a clear level path that we can travel on, without pain and difficulty.

But to get there, we have to believe.

And we have to overcome our fear.

(Sometime after my Camino, it’s still reaching into my soul and teaching me.)

I’m into my third day of my fast now and I’ve been invited to a dinner tonight.

My daughter’s boyfriend has spent the last two days preparing the meal. And he’s invited other guests too.

Here’s the dilemma – I don’t want to break my fast, particularly as I’m nearly past the worst stage, the first few days.

Equally though, I don’t want to sit around a dinner table and be rude by not eating. Particularly as he’s gone to so much trouble preparing the meal. Also, I don’t want to make a fuss about the fact that I’m on a fast.

So I’ve decided that for tonight, I’ll break the fast.

I could easily continue my fast, sit around the dinner table and only drink herbal tea. But it would be ungracious to my daughter’s boyfriend, who is cooking this dinner especially for me.

There are times when we can be too fixed and rigid in our beliefs or endeavours, and forget that we’re living in the real world.

I will put my fast on “pause” and continue it tomorrow.

I’ve been thinking of some of the people I met along The Way.

People I walked with, on and off, for weeks.

And people I met only once.

And it occurred to me that each person I met was a Teacher. Each, in their own way, taught me something. Even the rude people. And the arrogant people.

They were a mirror – a reflection of a part of my self. If I saw rudeness or uncaring or hubris in them, it was only because I recognised those traits within my self.

Each person I met had been put in my way to teach me a lesson.

As some of you might know, I’m writing a book on my Camino experiences, and I’m nearing the end. I’m at about 70,000 words.

Soon I’ll go into the editing and revisions stage. It should be done by the end of August, latest.

In writing the book, I’m having to recall moments I’ve largely forgotten – and one was a very simple moment. Of walking one morning, heading towards Astorga, and seeing distant snow capped mountains, then an hour later, looking up and seeing those mountains closer, then sometime later still, seeing them almost upon me.

I remember at the time being quite shocked by this.

That by walking, that by taking a series of small steps, I could alter the geography around me so dramatically, and bring forward a range of high mountains! It seems so obvious, but it really did have a profound effect on me.

And I began to think of the “power of the increment.”

I’d brought forward those mountains incrementally, by taking a series of small steps. I would end up walking to Santiago in a similar way. Whilst in Australia, before leaving, I remember looking at a map and wondering how could I possibly walk that far.

I did so, incrementally.

And now I’m writing this book the same way. Instead of walking each day, I’m writing each day. When I started, on June 1st, the prospect of writing a book seemed as daunting as walking the Camino.

Now I’m almost finished the first draft.

Anything can be achieved, if it’s approached using the power of the increment. You can become wealthy, by saving a little each week. You can lose weight, by eating a little less each day. Or doing a little more exercise each day. You can get a college degree, or start a new business, or paint the inside of your house, or make a beautiful quilt – all these things can be achieved, incrementally.

Sometimes the snow capped mountains seem so far away. They seem beyond your reach. But you can bring those mountains close to you, and you can climb them. If you approach them incrementally.