Tea Box

Everyone trusts old wives' tales. Our grandparents trust them. Mothers trust them. Most of all, doctors trust them. Even I trust them.

There are rules for doctors, I know, under the big name evidence-based medicine. What a splendid name to practice medicine, you must have thought. And who won't? The way to treat my recent febrile illness, of course, turns out to be a far cry from the evidence-based medicine. I was sick upon my way to work two days ago. I felt like a roast potato sold by the street tradesman, running a temperature on the pushcart but shivering in the depths of winter. My bones ached for aspirin, and so did my head. Without second thought, I went to buy the herbal tea that comes in a tiny paper box. The truth is that I have no idea what that box of tea is. I don't even reckon that another name for it is Kam Wo Tea.

One thing I haven't told you about my old-wives' obsession with that tiny box is that I first drank the herbal tea fourteen years ago. I was working in a surgery department as an intern at that time. Well. I was no better than a small shivering potato that morning when I went to my ward with a high temperature - and backbreaking load of work. Even so, I dared not to be off sick. There can be no more absurd invention of having a fever-stricken guy taking care of thirty-odd patients. Exhausting as it was to work it out, I tried not to appear sick. Later that afternoon, the night sister was off duty and bought me a tiny box of herbal tea. And then the miracle happened. I got my energy back after drinking that herbal tea. That's the gift I remember till today.

I didn't bother to find out how - or whether - the herbal tea cures my ailments. Whenever I get sick, I simply think about and drink that same box of herbal tea. It's a good old wives' tale for me to keep. It has kept me from getting any sick leave over the last fourteen years.