What am I doing wednesday,------ The month before Pilgrim Part two.

One or two of you must have bought Pilgrim; if you have, thank you very much,
if you have actually been brave enough to read it, would you consider leaving a review on either Amazon or Goodreads, it would help, honestly. If you enjoyed it why not join my mailing list and be the first to hear about anything new or any offers.
 I am going to move onto last months adventures, but first another inspiring photo. This is the Camino de Santiago as it is in Sarria, where I live. It is impossible to live here without being affected by Pilgrimage.

The Camino. Sarria Old Town

Back to last month. Have you ever had an MRI on your back? Well,  I hadn't. My entire knowledge came from watching Grey's Anatomy, which showed large swish looking machines where the operator looks down through glass windows from a spacious room full of computers on a spotless room to a patient clad in a long cotton gown.

Right, well, forget all that, our MRI is in the back of a lorry, the machine resembles the inside of a toilet roll and the operators stand and chat with a seemingly endless stream of people next to your ankles.

The changing room was so small that Barbie would have been worried and the hospital gown is a paper sheet the size of a tea towel with two slits for the arms of someone who must resemble a flat-chested stick insect.

It took me more than the allowed thirty seconds to realise that I was supposed to wear this sheet of paper and not sign it and attach it to the nurse's clipboard. A clipboard which already held a signed disclaimer stating that they were not responsible for the loss of any piercings I may have, or for the damage caused when they were sucked out of position by the machine and that I had no undeclared illness, heart problems or broken limbs.

After the nurse had called Elisabet, for the third time she whipped the curtain back and forced my arms through the tiny slits, causing the sheet to tear and my circulation to be cut off, and pushed me toward the machine which I was eyeing fearfully. If the gown wasn't designed for a plus-size body then nor was the machine itself. 

Having scrambled inelegantly onto the table I was given a panic button, and having been told what it was, was told not to press it as the whole process would have to start again and no one wanted that!. I was also told not to move, but by now we had both realised that this was an unnecessary instruction. Between the size of the paper sheet, the size of the tube and the bad back that I was here for, moving was not going to be an option.

Once the machine started it was like being inside a jet engine, very loud. I was aware also that there were now several people chatting over my ankles, I couldn't hear or see them but they kept blocking the light. I worried, because of the breeze,  that the door to the lorry was open meaning that anyone in the car park, should they so wish, could see me in my tube naked except for a paper towel, however, the door was closed when I was released.

Eventually, they kindly extracted me and allowed me to get dressed. I was told to make an appointment at reception to see a doctor for the results. It was Sunday afternoon, no one on reception and with no idea what was supposed happen next, I went home slightly dejected.

So stressed was I by this time, that everyone who crossed my path got their head bitten off, this caused a member of my writing group to leave the group much to my shame and embarrassment. I thought that the month would never end.

I realise that all this has got nothing to do with writing, of course, it hasn't. The trouble is that life insists on carrying on even though we have a book to write.

As you know I did continue and publish Pilgrim. I am in the process of preparing The Book of Herbal Medicine for publication. This is the sequel to the Silver Chalice and should be available to order sometime next week with a publication date in early December. More details will be available next week but needless to say, I hope that the month is less dramatic.