The trouble with having a neck problem is that people think it’s funny. They make Frankenstein remarks and even impersonate you, giggling hysterically at their own jokes. Would they laugh at people with disabilities in the street? No? Well, why do it to me, then? Let me tell you, it ain’t funny.

Recently I woke up with what I thought was just a stiff neck. It hurt like hell and over the next few days became progressively worse. Ordinary painkillers did nothing to alleviate it, although massage helped a little. After a week the pain became so bad I would not have wished it on my worst enemy — well, perhaps just one or two enemies — and my GP referred me to an orthopaedic consultant, Keith Borowsky, at the Alexandra Hospital, in Kent.

From X-rays he showed me that I had something he called “office spine”. Basically, two discs (the little fat sponges that sit between the vertebrae) had been pulverised by 25 years of sitting in the same position at computers and were pressing on the spinal nerves. The discs in my neck — about the size of the pieces on a draughts board — looked like bits of ragged cardboard.

By now I was speechless with pain, and the painkillers that I was taking, Tramadol, made me violently sick and brought me out in huge cold sores. With that understatement of which doctors are so fond, Borowsky said: “I can see you’re in a bad way”, and promptly admitted me to hospital for pain relief and traction.

It was bliss to be able to lie flat all day without feeling too guilty, or worrying about the vacuuming and the dog not being walked. I was given pethidine injections three times a day, which worked brilliantly on the pain but made me feel like a mad hippy from the Sixties — Come on Baby, Light My Fire.

My extraordinary dreams, in which I wore a Tudor neck ruff but nothing else, were filled with the pottiest of colleagues from work, my dog and my mother, who, as usual, was reprimanding me in Irish. In the background was Bob Dylan, singing: “Lay across my big orthopaedic bed.”

When I was compos mentis, I went for physio once a day, where I was given traction for 15 minutes but no massage, which the physiotherapist Karen Chan said could make things worse. This kind of neck problem was increasingly common, she told me, after decades of slumping over computers, especially among people who use laptops. I thought I’d have to wear one of those horrible foam collars, but apparently that isn’t such a good idea because the muscles supporting the head give up and let the collar do the work.

After five days I made the mistake of telling Borowsky how wonderful the pethidine was. “Marvellous stuff!” said I like a fool. Without pausing for a moment, he turned to the nurse and said: “Stop the pethidine immediately.” Then, looking at me sternly, he added: “It’s addictive, you know.”

After eight days, I was sent home with my own traction kit. This was a cunning piece of equipment in which you put on a kind of a scold’s bridle, essentially a chin-strap arrangement, which is attached to a cord, hung over a door and then fixed to a large bag which you fill with water. It cost only £21 for the whole caboodle, but it felt claustrophobic and disconcerting, and made me feel cross, especially when my husband said: “Well, at least it keeps you quiet.” But I used it every day for two weeks and it helped.

I also saw the physio regularly, and she urged me to join a Pilates class. “When disc problems recur, they can come back even worse than before,” she said. “The best thing is to mobilise the neck and upper body as much as possible.” She showed me exercises to do several times a day: lean right ear towards right shoulder, left ear towards left shoulder, look up, look right, look left.

My employer was very understanding (well I would say that, wouldn’t I?), providing me with a new chair, a footrest and advice from an occupational nurse on how to sit properly. Nursey took the armrests off my chair, moved it closer to the desk and urged me to move around much more, instead of slumping all day with a telephone wedged in my neck while I made notes.

I shall be joining a Pilates class shortly because I am terrified of my Frankenstein neck coming back again. The last time I saw Borowsky he told me it was important that I keep my neck in the “neutral position”. “You mean like a gearstick?” I said. “Yes, exactly that,” he said. And if I meet anyone in the same predicament, I promise not to laugh at them or impersonate them, or at least I’ll go outside before I do.

Physiomed home traction kit: 01457 860444, www.physiomedhomecare.co.uk

Are you sitting comfortably?

1 Eyes should be level with the top of your computer screen or document holder, so that you are looking down slightly. Always look at your desk square-on.

2 Arms should be relaxed, with no tension in the wrists. The secret here is to chill. Don’t grip that mouse too tightly, and don’t stretch to reach it.

3 Sitting at your desk, your spine should be in a slight S-shaped curve. Adjust your chair so that the backrest fits into the lower, or small, of the back.

4 Avoid crossing your legs. Your knees should be in line with your pelvis, or slightly lower, and your lower legs at a right angle to your thighs.

5 Feet should be flat on the floor, or on a footrest.

6 Make sure that there is enough room under your desk to move your legs freely.

7 Your computer screen should be at arm’s length away; don’t stretch to reach your keyboard.

KATE WIGHTON