My mind goes blank. Time seems to freeze.

I am in my local GP surgery filling out a questionnaire about low mood and depression.

The doctor is watching as I write. ‘Have you ever thought about ending your life?’ the next question wants to know.

I stare at the sheet in front of me, perhaps shocked at even finding myself being asked to answer this.

When eventually I tick the ‘no’ box, the GP asks why I hesitated for so long, seeking some reassurance. ‘No’, I tell him. ‘I’ve never reached that point’.

So why did I give it so much thought?

In the darkest moments, when the pain in my back feels like it has slammed the door shut on everything, I have asked myself, ‘What is the point of me?’

After all, when you can’t work, support your wife and family, and drive more than just a few miles, it feels like life is going on around you.

The gnawing, unremitting pain drags you slowly down, making you feel that you’re not as good as other people.

A recent BBC report gave voice to the suffering experienced by those living with chronic pain and exposed the depths of their despair.

The same words cropped up in their interviews: relentless, unbearable, overwhelming.

More than 4,000 adults aged 16 to 75 were surveyed for the report which suggested chronic pain (pain that lasts for more than three months) impacts the lives of one in four people in the UK.

Worse still, pain specialists conceded the health service is not equipped to deal with such complex conditions.

People often ask me, ‘What did you do?’ and in many ways that is the problem.

I did nothing. I simply started experiencing pain 16 years ago, it became more and more debilitating, and my search for solutions increasingly frantic.

Chiropractors, osteopaths, Alexander Technique, physiotherapy, acupuncture – I’ve tried them all – while at the same time washing down weapons-grade pain killers and other drugs.

Some helped numb the pain, and some exhausted me, fogging my brain and knocking me out for hours at a time.

After five years I had my first procedure – a sacral epidural. Since then, I have undergone facet joint injections and radiofrequency denervations.

These are designed to stop the nerves sending pain signals to the brain and they can produce good results, although they are a temporary not a permanent fix.

About six years ago my pain became all-consuming and I took a year’s unpaid leave.

My drug regime by then included morphine patches and tramadol and I drifted through most days like a zombie.

My self-confidence was shot. I had hit rock bottom.

A young woman interviewed for the recent BBC documentary said her pain had left her grieving for “the person she was”.

This resonated heavily with me. Pain makes you ill-tempered, resentful, and depressed.

You focus on yourself rather than others.

But while I don’t like how it has made me feel about things, it began so long ago there is no way back to the person I was.

That version of me would never recognise the one which has come to replace it.

The level of pain I wake up to sets the tone for the day.

Five or even six out of 10 is now like I’ve been given a day off. It’s just background noise.

Seven and upwards and I’m a write-off, and that’s very difficult for those around you, especially those you live with.

The invisibility of chronic pain understandably makes it difficult for other people to really understand what you are going through and how much it limits what you do.

‘I saw you out the other night, so I figured you must be better’ or ‘I’ve got a bad back, but I could never afford to take time off work’.

Chronic pain, although it never goes away completely, ebbs and flows.

The facet joint injection I had in June last year was a real success and four days after having it at Cromer Hospital, I was able to get a train to Cornwall and join my wife for a week’s holiday.

The following six months were much more manageable and made life so much more enjoyable.

Then it started wearing off and, as I write, I am recovering from another flare-up and waiting for what will be my third denervation.

But there’s also this. You have to ‘live’ as much as possible or else you’ve thrown in the towel.

That often means turning up for work or going to a concert even when you are in discomfort.

Pain has altered my own perceptions, such as what constitutes an achievement.

On very bad days, getting up or taking the dog on a short walk feels like a real win.

When I’m enjoying a better phase, I can travel, get work done on my books, and get the exercise that helps strengthen my back and relaxes my mind.

Stress and low mood are integral to the miserable whole pain cycle.

Severe pain causes low mood, and stress and anxiety prompt it. Which has caused the other is often impossible to know.

Car travel is a sure-fire trigger which means I drive very short distances and use the train for more ambitious journeys, such as to visit our daughters who are at university in Bristol and Newcastle, do promotional work around my books or get to an airport.

I’ve come to enjoy train travel because you can move about, stand if you need, and take more medication than driving would allow.

I can also bring heat patches or a TENS machine with me in case my back goes into spasm. Yep, trains are good.

I know my pain will never go away completely. Instead, my goal is to ‘manage’ it.

The BBC report highlighted the heavy reliance of people with chronic pain on strong medication, with 24% taking opioid painkillers.

These drugs are not intended as a long-term solution, but without the medication I take every morning and night, I would not be able to function, and I can’t see a time when I won’t take them.

Alcohol isn’t an ideal component in any pain plan, but if having a couple of glasses of wine means I can get a better night’s sleep, then that’s okay too.

It’s important not to be hard on yourself and beat yourself up for what you can’t achieve.

Looking wistfully at other people’s social media posts and resenting what they can do is neither helpful nor rational.

None of us know what is going on in other people’s lives.

Many live with far greater challenges than lower back pain. Far better is to focus on the good things you have, loyal and supportive friends and colleagues, and believe that if the last 24 hours have been difficult, the next 24 may be kinder.


For help locally, once you've seen your doctor, get in touch with action-on-pain.co.uk and bettertogethernorfolk.org.uk