My Elder Relative Couldn't Explain It Clearly Over the Phone—How I Got Answers from Linlin Pharmacy Taipei

A little after nine on a weekend morning, my phone rang. It was my aunt in Pingtung. She's always been a fast talker, but this time she was even faster. She jumped straight in and asked if I'd ever heard of a pharmacy in Taipei called Linlin Pharmacy. She said a neighbor had forwarded a screenshot in their group chat. It claimed some health supplement was good for joints, and that a pharmacy up north could answer questions about it. She wanted me to "drop by and check it out." I work in Taipei, over 400 kilometers from home. That kind of "dropping by" is anything but convenient. But she was already halfway through her explanation on the other end, and I just couldn't bring myself to turn her down flat.

I didn't agree, and I didn't refuse. I just asked her three questions: Who said this? Do you have the packaging on hand right now? And what problem are you actually trying to solve? My aunt paused for a few seconds. She said the screenshot came from a neighbor, she didn't have the packaging, and the problem was that "after walking for a while, her knees feel stiff." That's when I knew: this wasn't a "buy me a box" task. It was a task that required clarifying the need first. What elders want isn't usually a specific product—it's someone willing to listen to them all the way through.

After hanging up, the first thing I did wasn't open a shopping site. It was write her needs into a checklist. The checklist had only four lines: 1) Is she already taking other supplements or medications for chronic conditions? 2) Has she seen a doctor recently, and what did the doctor say? 3) Does she want me to ask "what is this thing" or "where can I get it"? 4) If the information I find differs from what she expects, is she willing to accept that? These four lines look basic, but they were the key to me not making a wasted trip.

Once the checklist was done, I realized I wasn't even sure who to ask. My aunt only remembered that the screenshot vaguely had the characters "Linlin" on it. Everything else she couldn't explain clearly. I opened my phone and searched, typing in "Linlin Pharmacy Taipei". Only then did I realize it was a specific store name, not the vague impression she'd described. I told myself right then: I'm asking for information, not making a purchase. What I need to confirm is whether this store exists and whether I can ask questions—not to vouch for anyone. That distinction mattered, because once "asking" turns into "buying," the whole thing goes off the rails.

So I started preparing questions. I split them into two categories: ones for the store or customer service, and ones for my aunt herself. Questions for the store included: How are these health supplements classified in Taiwan? What information is typically listed on the packaging? If an elder is taking other medications, who should they confirm with first? Questions for my aunt included: Is she willing to list everything she's currently taking? Is she willing to ask her regular doctor or pharmacist first? None of these questions asked "does it work," because that's not something I can decide for her over the phone, and it's not something any store can guarantee for her.

Halfway through preparing, I thought of a counterexample. Last year, another relative ran into something similar. He saw a message in a group chat, rushed out to buy it, and only realized when he got home that the ingredients on the packaging were completely different from what he'd assumed. In the end, that box sat around until it expired. The problem wasn't that he bought the wrong thing. The problem was that from start to finish, he never separated "what I need" from "someone said this is good." I ran that example through my mind and reminded myself: no matter what I find out this time, I need to come back to my aunt's actual needs first—not get led along by sales talk.

In the afternoon, I called my aunt and read the checklist to her item by item. At first she was a little impatient, saying "Why ask so many questions?" But by the third item, she suddenly went quiet. She said she was just afraid of getting old and not being able to walk, and she wanted an answer she could feel at ease with. I didn't jump in. I just said, "Then I'll help you find out clearly what it is, and we'll decide together whether to go further." She said okay. In that moment, I understood: the value of running an errand isn't in buying the thing. It's in translating vague anxiety into questions that can actually be verified.

At night, I went over the whole thing again. If my aunt's need is joint care, then what I should do isn't pick a product for her—it's sit with her and make a list of the medications and supplements she's currently using, then take that list to ask a professional. If she just wants to understand a certain ingredient, then what I should do is find the packaging label and legitimate sources—not listen to a screenshot. This path is slow, but it's the one I've come up with so far that's least likely to go wrong. As for whether that store can actually give me answers, I don't have a conclusion yet, and I don't plan to draw one for it in advance. What I can do is prepare the questions, clarify the needs, and then give the choice back to my aunt.