Guess who's coming to dinner?

Yes, Spike is pain. He is my pain. Neurogenic in origin, and debilitating by nature. His full name is Spike Red-hot-pitch-fork-wired-up-to-the-mains, but I don't like to be too formal.

I have spent many hours exploring ways of parting company with him, sitting in the waiting rooms of pain management clinics staring blankly at the ubiquitous dead pot-plant. But pain management is a tricky area. It can't be measured empirically, so you are presented with a series of scales of one to ten to describe it. This is pretty difficult if your pain is sporadic and unpredictable. I can't trigger it through any specific movement or action, nor can I predict when it will strike, so inevitably I find myself visiting various therapists when I am in tip-top condition. A bit like when you bring your car to the garage because it's making a funny noise, and then, no matter how many times you start it up, the rattle won't show itself.

I have been asked to keep a 'pain diary' in order to look for patterns or triggers. I tried this for a while, but there was no obvious timetable, and it only served as a depressing log of just how much time I spend hurting.

My trips to the pain management clinic have seen me experimenting with various substances, even an infusion of ketamine on one occasion. Unfortunately, all this revealed was that the new Goldfrapp album sounds brilliant when you're off your tits 'through the K hole', as I believe it is described in street parlance. Anyway, by the time I got home again in an orange glow that seemed to fill the car, Spike was waiting to welcome me with open arms.

As my pain takes different forms, I have tried different solutions. I have back pain caused by sitting all day. This is best alleviated with massage and something called 'trigger point', which involves the physiotherapist jamming their thumb or the point of their elbow into any muscles that are in spasm. This hurts.

I have also tried acupuncture, where the practitioner targeted specific points to stimulate endorphin release. This too hurts.

Despite filling my day with distractions - parenting, writing, cooking, computer games, even heavy drinking, and obviously prescription drugs by the wheelbarrow full, I am still at the behest of my unwelcome guest. I can sometimes break free by downing a sleeping tablet or two, but once it starts the pain is impossible to ignore. My options are limited. I could have surgery to completely transect my spinal cord, but there's no guarantee that things would be better.

So, I'm looking for a hypnotherapist. If people can have teeth pulled or major surgery whilst hypnotised, then my pains should be a doddle. The trouble is I'm a bit nervous of barking like a dog to order. Or waking up in the street dressed only in a lampshade and flippers. Maybe I just need to check their references carefully. And stop watching the likes of Derren Brown.

Pain is one of the most hidden aspects of disability. It can be debilitating enough to dominate lives, and lead people to desperate measures, yet it is invisible enough to cause tutting when the sufferer places their blue badge on the dashboard (obviously not for me. The wheelchair tends to be a big clue that I'm a legitimate 'bladger').

Pain can be an awkward topic of conversation. I try not to talk about it too much, as I can sense that it makes people uncomfortable. Sometimes when I'm really squirming, friends will ask if I'm in a lot of pain. I usually counter with "It'll ease in a minute." I'm not really sure if I would prefer them to just ignore it or to ask. I try to ignore it myself, until it commands attention. But I'm not sure if this is cognitive thinking or just denial. All I really know is Ow!...Ow. Ow. Ow. Ouch! Nnnnngh! It's OK, it'll pass... Curse you, Spike!