Dear Co-Worker:
Cashews are not just as good as Prozac for clinical depression. I don't care what Drs. Mercola or Oz or whatever other woo-meister you follow on Facebook says. You've worked at world-class hospitals your entire adult life. How does this have to be explained to you? YOU CANNOT REPLACE A PRESCRIPTION SSRI WITH A HANDFUL OF TREE NUTS (and, incidentally, you can't arrest Alzheimer's with almonds or ginger tea or kale, and you will not burn fat like gangbusters by eating this one weird fruit).
How bad is it when your officemate, a Papist who believes sincerely in transubstantiation, is facepalming at your love affair with woo? Baby Jesus is crying. Baby Neil de Grasse Tyson is crying. Baby Hippocrates is screaming so hard he's turning purple and flailing his baby Hippocratic limbs. Baby House is purely fictional, but he just punched a hole in the wall with his baby cane anyway.
Some love but lots of impatience, Me
(Sigh. I know she's under unbelievable stress, juggling a declining parent and a flaky teen as a single mom, but cashews will help none of them and these "doctors" are making it worse by filling people like her with nonsensical non-cures that offer false promises of control and cure and make them waste time and energy on fruitless BULLSHIT. How I loathe them.)