My Elder Asked Me to Look Into Linlin Pharmacy's Taipei Branch, So I Started With a List of Questions🔥

My elder called up from down south, saying a neighbor had recommended something and asking me to find time to go ask about it at Linlin Pharmacy's Taipei branch. On the phone he was vague, only saying "that thing for the joints" and "they talk about it on TV." I pressed him three times before he finally said the box was green and had huangqi and danggui written on it. After hanging up, I sat at my desk in my rented room, and my first thought wasn't to head out the door—it was to open my notebook and write down "what exactly am I going to ask."

I later realized that with this kind of errand, the scariest part isn't not being able to find the store—it's getting there and discovering you have no idea what to ask. My elder's needs actually break down into three layers: the first is confirming whether the thing the neighbor mentioned is even a health food; the second is whether it can be taken alongside the chronic-illness medications he takes regularly; the third is price and how to buy it. If you mix all three together, the clerk will just pick the easiest layer to answer—the price.

So I split the questions apart and wrote them down. Question one: On this product's packaging, is it labeled "health food" or "general food"? These two are regulated differently in Taiwan, and their certification marks look different too. I wanted to ask them to show me the actual product rather than just describe it verbally. Question two: My elder has a list of his chronic-illness medications. I can copy down the drug names, but I don't plan to ask in the store whether they can be taken together—that answer shouldn't come from a retail store, but should be taken back for my elder's attending physician or pharmacist to review. Question three: If they say "lots of people took it and it worked," I need to be able to tell whether that's an introduction or a promise.

What really stumped me was question two. On the phone, my elder kept asking "so does it actually work or not," and I couldn't answer for him, nor should I. What I could do was clearly copy down the ingredients, warnings, and suggested users on the packaging, photograph the "who should not take it" column, and leave the rest to the professionals. This also made me realize something: the reason I need to look into Linlin Pharmacy's Taipei branch isn't because I believe there's some magical answer there, but because my elder specified this location—and before I go, I need to figure out what to bring, what to ask, and which questions can't be answered on the spot. If you reverse that order, you end up believing whatever anyone feeds you.

The next day at noon, I went during my lunch break. Before leaving, I put a photocopy of my elder's medication list into a ziplock bag, and prepared a sheet of paper with "what I want to ask" on the left and "what I want to copy down" on the right. On the right side I listed: the full product name, the type of certification mark on the packaging, the ingredient list, the full text of the warnings, storage instructions, and which phone number to call if I have questions. That sheet of paper later proved more important than anything else, because standing in front of the shelf, it's easy to get distracted by the promotional signs next to you—and come back remembering only the discount, not the labeling.

There's also a technique to communicating on site. I didn't open with "my grandpa wants to take this." Instead I started with "I'm here to confirm the packaging labels for my elder—he's down south and can't come himself." This has two advantages: the other person knows I'm not an impulse buyer, and knows I need information, not a sales pitch. When I asked about "how this relates to chronic-illness medications," the answer was more conservative than I expected—they only said "you'd better ask a doctor about that to be sure." I was a bit disappointed in the moment, but afterward I felt it was the right response, because that was never something a retail store could take responsibility for. I copied down the warnings on the packaging word for word, including the line about "special populations should consult first."

After getting back, I did two things. First, I read the information I'd copied back to my elder, emphasizing that I hadn't brought back any conclusion about "what happens if you take it." Second, I reminded him that next time the neighbor mentions something, he should first ask three questions: Does the packaging have the little green man mark? Does it say "health food"? What do the warnings say? These three questions don't require any professional background, yet they can keep most exaggerated claims at the door. I also made it clear to my elder that this trip was just me copying down the labeling—not an endorsement, and certainly not a suggestion that he buy it.

What this errand taught me is that when you're looking into something for an elder, what you most need to prepare isn't your wallet—it's a detailed enough list of questions, and a willingness to say "I don't know" out loud. Some questions can't be answered on the spot, not because the other person is being dishonest, but because they were never meant to be resolved in front of a shelf. Separate what should be taken to a doctor, what you should copy down yourself, and what should be clarified on the spot, and things are far less likely to go off track. Next time my elder gives me an assignment, I'll probably still sit down and take notes first, rather than rushing out the door.