Julie Anderson Facebook ad: “Feel Like Yourself Again”

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There are 3 half-empty rolls of Tums in the junk drawer in my kitchen right now. I counted them last Tuesday. One in the little pencil tray. One under the roll of Scotch tape. One shoved to the back next to a rubber band ball my grandson made me in 2019. My husband Dean has been chewing Tums after every dinner for 9 years. Every dinner. Meatloaf. Spaghetti. A tuna sandwich. Doesn't matter. The plates go in the sink and Dean reaches into that drawer and pops 2 chalky little discs and stands at the counter chewing them like a man doing a chore. I've watched him do it 3,000 times. I'm not exaggerating. I did the math. 3,000 times, standing at that same corner of the same laminate counter, chewing. And here's the thing. He never once mentioned it to a doctor. I'm Bonnie. I'm 62. My husband Dean is 64. We live in Waterloo, Iowa, in a split level on Idaho Avenue we bought in 1991 when our oldest boy was still crawling. We have 2 kids and 5 grandkids. Our daughter Sarah lives in Cedar Falls with 3 of them. Our son Kevin is in Ames with the other 2. We drive up and down 380 more than anybody should have to. Dean drove a straight truck for a produce distributor for 33 years, hauling for the grocery chains around eastern Iowa. Retired in 2020. Now he does small engine repair out of the garage for beer money and neighbor favors. I co-own a little quilting shop called Prairie Stitch on Falls Avenue with my best friend Marilee. We've had it 11 years. We do longarm quilting for people, and we sell fabric, and we teach a Tuesday night class that fills up every session with women who mostly come to talk. I love my life. I want to say that first. I have a good marriage to a good man. My grandbabies are all healthy. My shop pays the bills. Dean and I have plans to take an Amtrak trip out to Glacier in 2027 to celebrate 45 years. But Dean has been chewing Tums for 9 years. And I have been watching him do it for 9 years. And I finally opened my mouth about it on the wrong day. It started small. Everything does. He'd come home from a run to Dubuque or Cedar Rapids in 2016 and eat a big plate of whatever I'd put on the table and stand up and pat his chest and say, "Whew. That's setting on me." I'd tell him to chew slower. He'd shrug and grab the Tums off the counter. It wasn't every night at first. Maybe 2 or 3 times a week. Then it was 4 or 5. Then it was every night in 2018. Then it was every night plus one in the middle of the night in 2019. By 2020, right around when he retired, it was every night after dinner and one in the middle of the night and one in the truck on his way home from wherever he'd been in the afternoon. He kept a roll in the console of the truck. He kept one in the medicine cabinet. He kept 3 in the junk drawer. He kept a roll in his fishing tackle box because he said it acted up worst on the boat. I bought them by the giant bag at Sam's Club. There is a picture in my head of Dean at 2:14 in the morning, sitting up in bed in the dark, chewing 2 Tums in the blue light from the alarm clock. I have that picture from being awake next to him. I have it from a hundred nights. I asked him one time, maybe 4 years in. I said, "Deanie, don't you think you should tell the doctor about this?" He said, "Bon, everybody gets heartburn. It's not a thing." I said, "It's a thing when it's every night for years." He said, "It's just food. My gut's not what it used to be. Nothing to do about it." I dropped it. That's a thing wives do that I want to be honest about. We drop it. We drop it because if we push and they get defensive it turns into a fight and we don't want a fight. We drop it because we think, well, he's a grown man, he can decide when to see a doctor. We drop it because we tell ourselves it's not our body. We drop it because we don't want to be the wife who nags. I dropped it in 2019. I dropped it in 2020. I dropped it in 2021. I dropped it 2 more times in 2022 when it seemed to get worse. Nine years of dropping it. And every year the drawer had a few more Tums rolls in it. Then Thanksgiving 2024. Dean's sister Marge came up from Marion for the long weekend. Marge is 65. She's a retired dietitian. She used to work at the hospital in Cedar Rapids and now she consults for a couple of nursing homes down there. She's sharper than the whole rest of the family put together. Never married. No kids. Just a little dachshund named Reuben she brings everywhere. She got in on Wednesday afternoon. Reuben immediately claimed the corner of the couch. I made a turkey. My mom's stuffing. A green bean thing with the crispy onions on top. Sarah brought a pecan pie. Kevin brought his in laws. 10 people around the table plus Reuben under it. Dean carved. He always carves. He loved it. He was on his second glass of wine and telling a story about a guy he used to unload with in Muscatine. We ate for probably an hour and a half. Dishes went to the sink around 8:30. Dean did what Dean does. He walked over to the junk drawer. Pulled out a roll. Popped 2. Stood at the corner of the counter chewing. Marge was still at the table with a coffee. She watched him do it. Then she watched me watch him do it. Then she got up and she said, "Bonnie, come help me put the pie away for a second." We went into the kitchen. Dean had wandered off into the living room to sit down and watch football with Kevin. Marge shut the pantry door behind us. Kept her voice low. She said, "How long has he been doing that." I said, "Doing what." She said, "The Tums. After the meal." I said, "Oh. I don't know. Years." She said, "How many years." I looked at her. I said, "Nine." She looked at me like I'd told her he'd been eating razor blades. She said, "Bonnie." I said, "He won't go to the doctor about it. He says it's just how his gut is." Marge sat down at my kitchen table. She rubbed her forehead. She said, "Sit down." I sat down. She said, "I need you to listen to me for a minute and I need you to not get defensive because I love my brother." I said, "Okay." She said, "The lining of your esophagus and the lining of your stomach and the tissue in between, those are some of the most delicate tissues in your whole body. They aren't built to sit in acid on a permanent basis. They're built to handle a meal, do their job, and reset. When you dump antacid on top of that tissue every single night for 9 years, you are not fixing the environment. You are numbing it. The chalk covers it. The tissue underneath doesn't get any less irritated. It just stops screaming at him for an hour." She said, "And the tissue itself, that lining, is under oxidative stress from all of it. From the food. From the wear. From nine years of the same routine. Meanwhile the environment where that tissue is supposed to be doing its healing and its regenerating, that environment is worn down. It's not clean. It's not calm. It's a mess." I said, "So what does he do about it." She said, "First, he does not stop the Tums today. That's between him and a doctor. But there is something else. And I wish I'd known about it 4 years ago when Ron was doing the same thing." Ron is Marge's ex boyfriend. He had a heart attack in 2021 at 61. He's alive. He's fine. But Marge has told me privately more than once that he had gut issues for years before that and she wonders now if the two things were connected. She said, "There is one thing I've been recommending to some of my patients at the nursing homes. Not for heartburn specifically. Nobody puts it that way. But for the environment. For the tissue. For the oxidative stress that lining sits in." She said, "It's pomegranate." I laughed. I couldn't help it. I said, "Marge. Pomegranate. Like the juice." She said, "No. Not the juice. Not the seed. The peel." Then she told me something I did not know. She said the peel of the pomegranate contains a class of compounds called punicalagins. She said they are among the most studied antioxidant compounds in nature. She said the peel is where the compounds live. Not the juice. Not the seed. And the peel is what everybody throws away. She said the compounds have been studied for years for their activity in the environment of the digestive lining. For the tissue that takes the wear. For the small vessels feeding that tissue. For the oxidative stress that builds up on it over years. She said, "The tissue in Dean's esophagus and stomach, that lining, has been under constant assault for 9 years. Longer probably. It hasn't had the antioxidant support to keep up. The Tums does nothing for that. Nothing at all. It's a bandage on a burn." She said, "But the peel compounds have been studied on exactly that kind of environment. The kind of environment where tissue is trying to do its own work and can't." She said, "You can't eat the peel. You can't chew it. You have to concentrate it. And you have to standardize it correctly." She said, "Most pomegranate supplements at the pharmacy standardize to ellagic acid. Which is a downstream cousin compound. Not the same thing. The research is on the punicalagins, but most bottles skip that step because it's harder and it costs more. So they put pomegranate on the label and sell you the cheap piece and hope you don't notice." She said, "The one I've been recommending is called Auniva. It's the peel. It's standardized to the punicalagins. It's organic. It's made here in the US. And of all the ones I've looked at, it's the one I trust." She said, "Two capsules with the morning coffee. That's the whole routine." She said, "It doesn't hit you in an hour. It's not like a Tums. It's not covering anything up. It's giving the tissue a chance to sit in a cleaner environment and do what it's always known how to do." I said, "How long." She said, "4 to 8 weeks. Sometimes longer. Ron's been on it 15 months and last time I saw him for lunch he told me he hadn't taken a Tums in 6 months. He said it plain. He wasn't bragging. He said it like a man saying the weather." I said, "You still see Ron." She said, "Lunch every 6 weeks. Don't tell your mother." I laughed at that in a way I hadn't laughed in probably 2 hours. Then she said, "Bonnie. Get the bottle. Put it in his coffee routine. Don't fight him about the Tums. Just put the pomegranate in his hand every morning with his coffee. Let the tissue get 6 weeks of a different environment. See what happens." She wrote it down for me on the back of a Thanksgiving card. auniva.co slash pom slash 5. I ordered it that night while Dean was watching the fourth quarter of the Lions game. He didn't know. It came the Tuesday after Thanksgiving. I set it on the counter next to the coffee maker Wednesday morning. Dean walked in for his coffee and looked at it. He said, "What's that." I said, "Marge left it. She wants you to take 2 with your coffee. She says it might help with the after dinner thing." He looked at me a minute. He said, "That woman." I said, "Just take it, Dean. For me." He shrugged. He poured his coffee. He took 2 out of the bottle. He swallowed them with the first sip. That was that. I want to be honest about the first month. The first 4 weeks, honestly, I couldn't tell if anything was different. Dean was still standing at the corner of the counter after dinner chewing Tums. I asked Marge on the phone in the middle of December. She said, "Bonnie. Give it time. This isn't a switch. This is you cleaning up 9 years of a wrecked environment. The tissue is going to get its window to work. But it has to have the window first. Some people it's 4 weeks. Some it's 8. Ron was 5." I gave it more time. Week 5 I noticed Dean skipped the middle of the night one. He didn't say anything. I noticed because I woke up around 2:30 for the bathroom and he was sound asleep and there wasn't a wrapper on the nightstand. I didn't say anything either. Week 6 he ate lasagna with our daughter Sarah in Cedar Falls, and he told me on the drive home he didn't need his Tums for that. Which is a thing he'd never said in 9 years. I made a mental note but I did not make a big deal. Week 7 he had spaghetti and meatballs at home on a Friday night and he stood up from the table and cleared his plate and walked right past the junk drawer to sit down on the couch. I stared at him. He said, "What." I said, "Nothing, honey." He didn't reach for the Tums that whole night. He didn't reach for them the next 3 nights either. Around week 9, we were sitting at breakfast one Sunday morning. Dean was reading the Waterloo Courier and I was working on a quilting pattern. He said, out of nowhere, without looking up from the paper, "Bon, did the pomegranate thing do something." I said, "What do you mean." He said, "I haven't taken a Tums in almost 2 weeks. I just realized it." I said, "Marge told me it might." He put the paper down. He looked at me for a long time. He said, "That drawer's had Tums in it since before Ellery was born." Ellery is our oldest grandchild. She's 14. He said, "I don't know when I'm supposed to feel weird about that." I said, "Now's a good time, sweetie." He got quiet. Then he said, "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you when you asked me to see somebody." I want to tell you what I told him. I said, "You don't owe me an apology, Dean. You did what men do. You handled it your way. I did what wives do. I dropped it. We were both wrong about the same thing for 9 years, and Marge came in with a paper towel and dinner plates and told us both. Let's just be past it." He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. We haven't gotten a big bag of Tums from Sam's since November. I threw out 2 of the 3 rolls in the junk drawer last weekend. I left the third one there. I don't know why. I guess as a reminder. There are days I open the drawer and see it and I remember the 3,000 nights I watched my husband chew chalk instead of talking to a doctor. I'm not going to tell you Auniva Pomegranate is what cured my husband's stomach. That's not what I'm saying. I'm not a doctor and neither is Marge, technically, though she's closer than either me or Dean. I'm telling you what I saw with my own eyes at my own kitchen table. A man who chewed Tums for 9 years, every night, and by week 10 wasn't reaching for them anymore. If your husband has the drawer. If you have the drawer. If somebody you love has the drawer. I want to tell you what Marge told me over pecan pie the day after Thanksgiving. You can address the environment. You give the tissue a chance to sit in a cleaner place. You take 2 capsules with your morning coffee. It's Auniva Pomegranate. It's the peel. Not the juice. Not the seeds. Standardized to the punicalagins that the research is actually on. Organic. Made in the US. They give you 90 days to try it. If it's not doing anything, you ship the bottle back and they refund your money. That's the whole thing. There's no runaround. I don't work for them. I run a quilting shop in Waterloo, Iowa, and I have a husband who spent 9 years chewing chalk while I stood there watching. Here's where I ordered his. 👉 https://auniva.co/pom/5 P.S. I want to say the peel piece one more time because it's what took me the longest to understand. Pomegranate juice is nice. Pomegranate seeds on your salad are nice. The pomegranate supplements at your local drugstore that say "high in ellagic acid" on the label are, again, nice. But none of those are the actual thing the research is on. The compounds that have been studied on the tissue environment, on the antioxidant load, on the small vessel support in the lining, those are the punicalagins. They live in the peel. The peel is what everybody throws out. Auniva doesn't throw it out. That's why 2 capsules with your coffee does the job that a gallon of pomegranate juice would not. P.P.S. Marge asked me to tell you this. She says she's not a naturopath, she's not selling anything, she's a retired dietitian who's seen too many patients in her career who lived on antacids for 20 years and paid for it later. She said if this is going on in your house, don't wait 9 years like I did. Don't drop it like I did. Get the bottle. Put it in his hand with his coffee. Let the environment change. See what happens by week 6 or 7. Marge said if I don't include this she'll never make me another pie. P.P.P.S. About the 90 days. I know some of you have been burned by companies that "guarantee" things and then vanish when you try to get your money back. This is not that. You have 90 days from your order. If nothing has changed, you ship the bottle back to Auniva and they refund you. No fight. No email chain. That's just how they do it. I ordered a second bottle for Dean before he finished the first, and I ordered one for myself because I've been standing at that counter next to him for 9 years and my own stomach has some things to say about it. 👉 https://auniva.co/pom/5

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