I was on the T on my way home from a job assessment in Pittsburgh. I’d been shaky all morning, having difficulty breathing, upset tummy, and so on. I wasn’t altogether well.

It was five or so stops from my destination when I decided I had better take a pain killer. I’d popped one when I got to the building, but it wasn’t doing much for me. I couldn’t just wait until I got to my car, because that would be some time, and I had a long drive home and other things to do after that. With fibromyalgia, delaying a pain pill 20 minutes isn’t just a 20 minute delay and then the same relief you’d have if you’d taken it 20 minutes earlier. It means that it will take longer for the pill to kick in when you do take it, and it’s got more pain to kill, and it’s going to be less effective on the whole. Pain builds, so the longer you go without treatment, the worse you are when you get around to it, and the more work it takes to treat it (which makes things worse for you throughout).

So.

I didn’t have a drink. And there wasn’t really any way to get a drink, unless I wanted to waste an hour and a half getting off the next stop, wandering around looking for a restaurant or market, acquiring the drink, making my way back to the stop and waiting for the next trolley. Needless to say that wasn’t going to help my pain state either.

I’ve dry swallowed pills a couple times before. The last time I was fourteen or fifteen, and the memory is vague, but I did it. I mean, it wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t bad or anything.

So I pulled my pill case out of my purse. And I started saving up my spit. (Oh, stop gagging, you faker, you’ve done it before.)

My mouth was dry, though — happens from time to time; Sjogren’s, allergies? I don’t know, I’ve never really looked into it. Anyway, you swallow drugs with the spit you’ve got, not the spit you wish you had; I put the pill in my mouth and tried to swallow.

And the spit went down and the pill…. didn’t….

Let me pause to clarify something. This is half a generic Vicodin. It’s fucking huge. And this is no sugar-covered caplet or sweet smooth gelcap. It’s compressed powder with a light seal around the surface. And I don’t know if you’ve ever tasted Vicodin powder, but it’s basically powdered vomit acid.

And it was coating the entire inside of my mouth and throat.

OHGODOHGODOHGOD

I gagged and I heaved and my eyes almost rolled back into my head, I swear it — I spat the soggy pill into my hand and looked at it, trying not to puke. Tears were forming in my eyes. Maybe because I let the spit go down first? I sat there trying to save up more, but I kept swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the awful taste and sawdust texture. (Didn’t work.)

Eventually I held back as much as I could, and I gave it one more go.

And I failed.

I wrapped the pill and stuffed it in my purse and tried to distract myself. It didn’t work.

Of course? The train had to make every. fucking. stop between there and my destination.

It took another twenty or so minutes before I got to my car, and I headed straight to the Wendy’s across the street for a nice long drink. But I was tasting that shit for the rest of the day. At the end of the night when I poured my final glass of water — half to take my bedtime medicine, half to use the next morning for same — I tasted it again.

It’s almost gone now. Almost.

I’m not going to be trying to dry swallow any pills again any time soon.