When you get to a certain age, at least for women, the kind of information you share with your close friends goes through a complete overhaul, a metamorphosis. Yes, we still post funny reels that we all can relate to on WhatsApp. We gossip a bit. We update one another about our families, work, news stories that affect us, but most of the time, we find ourselves sharing stuff to do with wellness.
For instance, one of us will mention that lately she has been forgetful, and almost immediately, someone will recommend a supplement or herb that they swear will boost your memory and ignite your alertness in a matter of hours. Ginkgo biloba , anyone? Not only that, they will give you a list of places where you can get the said supplement at an affordable price.
And since women are detail-oriented, which means they don’t leave any information hanging, they will even tell you the specific brand to buy, and better still, will send you a screenshot of the pack. Another will talk of a fitness regime they have recently taken up, and even better, which you can do from the comfort of your living room, exercise that is kind on the knees, they add.
And oh, did you say your hairline has become weak and you’re losing hair? Not to worry, there’s a plant-based oil that will have your hair growing back in a matter of weeks and it is not even expensive. And for a smooth skin, just use the turmeric you use to cook…
Anyway, that is how I found myself at a supermarket looking for a specific brand of chamomile tea, after I mentioned in a group that lately, I was having trouble sleeping. My ‘plug’ had sent me a picture of the packet, so I wasn’t going in blindly. I found what I was looking for soon enough, a plump light blue packet decorated with yellow and white flowers, which I assumed is what the chamomile flower (or is it a plant?) looks like. As I paid for the package, I could not help looking forward to a good-night’s rest, since the one that recommended the ‘treatment’ had assured me that I would sleep like the dead.
I’m not fond of the kitchen, so I was excited to find out that the concoction was easy to prepare. All I had to do was boil some water, then drop a teabag into it and let it steep for two minutes, and thereafter sip my way to fitful sleep. Pray, why didn’t I get this life-changing information sooner?
In my excitement, I decided to steep two teabags instead of one to speed up the process. To cut this long story short, I drank the concoction to the last drop then got into bed. Ladies and gentlemen, I didn’t sleep that night. Rather than the beauty sleep I had envisioned, the little ladies room kept beckoning me every five minutes, thanks to a bladder that just won’t stop filling up.
In between the visits to the other room, I, naturally, updated in the group the disastrous results of this remedy that had been spoken highly off. Instead of solving my insomnia, it had escalated it, I fumed. My plug was unapologetic, and sounding like a stern doctor that never smiles at his patients, informed me that those were the side effects of “overdosing”.
Afraid of spending another night crisscrossing between rooms, I decided I would not even try the recommended dosage, prepared to count sheep until I fell asleep. As it is, I now have a box full of those disappointing teabags. Who wants them?
