The candy lets you be functional, even if you're not comfortable
In the quiet arithmetic of chronic pain, a young British woman has found an unlikely ally in a childhood sweet — not a cure, but a negotiation. Jemma O'Donovan, 28, who endures two severe migraines each week, discovered that the fizzing sensation of a Barratt Sherbet Dip Dab appears to redirect her brain's attention away from pain, offering relief within fifteen minutes where prescription medication left her barely able to move. Her story, shared on TikTok, has touched a nerve among migraine sufferers worldwide — a reminder that sometimes the body's oldest needs are met in the most unexpected aisles.
- Jemma O'Donovan faces debilitating migraines twice a week — complete with vomiting, double vision, and full-body pain — that have quietly dismantled her ability to live and work normally for three years.
- Her prescribed medication offered its own punishment: within twenty minutes, her limbs would feel like cement, leaving her trading one form of incapacitation for another.
- A chance craving in a Tesco sweet aisle led her to a Sherbet Dip Dab, and within fifteen minutes of eating it, the migraine's grip softened enough for her to stand, open the curtains, and function.
- She now keeps a drawer stocked with the retro candy, treating the appearance of her aura as a cue to reach for sherbet rather than pharmaceuticals.
- Her TikTok post ignited a wave of shared food remedies — fizzy drinks, salty chips, black coffee — suggesting a broader, largely undocumented folk pharmacology living quietly among chronic migraine sufferers.
Jemma O'Donovan wasn't looking for a remedy when she reached for a Barratt Sherbet Dip Dab in the sweets aisle at Tesco. The 28-year-old had been managing severe migraines for three years — two a week, each one heralded by flashing lights and blooming colours in one eye, giving her roughly thirty minutes before the real suffering arrived.
When the migraines took hold, they were total: vomiting, dizziness, double vision, and pain that radiated through her whole body. She had prescription medication, but it carried its own cost — within twenty minutes, her arms grew too heavy to lift, walking required conscious effort, and everything felt like moving through cement. The cure and the condition had become almost indistinguishable.
So the sherbet was just a snack. But something shifted. The fizz seemed to occupy her brain's attention, and within fifteen minutes the symptoms softened — not gone, but manageable. She could get out of bed. She could open the curtains. She tried it again the next time, half-expecting it to fail. It didn't. Now a drawer full of Dip Dabs sits ready in her room, waiting for the aura.
When she shared the discovery on TikTok, the response was immediate. Others flooded in with their own accidental remedies — McDonald's Coke, salty chips, black coffee, energy drinks — and one commenter recalled a doctor once mentioning that sour and fizzy sweets might help. What O'Donovan had found was less a cure than a small act of resistance: not the end of pain, but the difference between suffering in bed and suffering while still standing up. For someone navigating neurological chaos twice a week, that difference is everything.
Jemma O'Donovan was reaching for sweets in the children's aisle at Tesco when she stumbled onto what would become her most reliable migraine tool. The 28-year-old from the U.K. had been living with severe migraines for three years—two of them, on average, every single week. Each one arrived with a familiar warning: flashing lights and colors blooming in one eye, a signal that she had roughly thirty minutes to get somewhere safe before the real suffering began.
When the migraine took hold, it took hold completely. Vomiting, dizziness, double vision, and pain that seemed to radiate through her entire body. She had medication for it—heavy-duty stuff—but the cure felt almost as bad as the disease. Within twenty minutes of taking it, her body would go slack. Her arms felt too heavy to lift. Walking became an act of will. Everything felt like cement.
So when she picked up a Barratt Sherbet Dip Dab—a British classic, a strawberry lollipop meant to be dipped in white sherbet powder—she wasn't thinking about treatment. She was just hungry. But something unexpected happened. The fizz seemed to occupy her brain's attention. Within fifteen minutes of finishing it, she noticed the fog lifting. The symptoms didn't vanish entirely, but they softened. She could get out of bed. She could open the curtains. She could function.
She tried it again during the next migraine, skeptical it would work twice. It did. The blurred vision plateaued. The intensity became manageable. She wasn't cured, but she was no longer trapped. Now she keeps a drawer full of Dip Dabs in her room, ready for whenever the aura appears.
O'Donovan posted about her discovery on TikTok, framing it as a plea to others suffering the same way: try it, she urged. You might be onto something. The response was immediate. People rushed to stock up on the candy. Others shared their own food hacks—McDonald's Coke and fries, salty chips, black coffee, energy drinks. One commenter noted that their doctor had once mentioned that sour and fizzy sweets could help, and wondered if this was the same principle at work.
What O'Donovan had found, almost by accident, was a small rebellion against the binary choice between pain and numbness. The candy wasn't a cure. It was permission to keep living while the migraine passed. For someone who works full-time and has to show up to her life twice a week in the grip of neurological chaos, that permission matters. It's the difference between suffering in bed and suffering while standing up, and for someone who has lived with this long enough, that difference is everything.
Notable Quotes
The medication basically makes my body go to sleep and everything about my body stops working. In about 20 minutes, I feel like I can't lift my arms or walk properly, and my whole body feels like cement.— Jemma O'Donovan, on her prescription migraine medication
It's not a complete fix, but it makes it more manageable to go about my day as I work full-time. You feel you can get out of bed and open the curtains.— Jemma O'Donovan, on the candy's effect
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you say the fizz distracted your brain, what do you mean exactly? Is it the sensation, the taste, something else?
It's hard to explain, honestly. I think it's the combination—the fizz on your tongue, the sweetness, the texture changing as you dip. When you're in a migraine, your brain is screaming. The candy gives it something else to focus on for a moment.
And that moment is enough to break the cycle?
Not break it, no. But it takes the edge off. The pain doesn't disappear, but it becomes something you can live alongside instead of something that owns you completely.
Your medication works faster in theory, but the side effects are worse. Why not just push through the migraine without either?
Because two migraines a week means you can't just push through. You have a job. You have a life. The medication makes you non-functional. The candy lets you be functional, even if you're not comfortable.
Do you think it's actually the sherbet, or could it be placebo?
I've asked myself that a hundred times. But placebo or not, if it works, it works. I'm not interested in the mechanism as much as the result. I can get up. I can work. That's real.
What would you tell someone who's skeptical?
Try it. You've got nothing to lose. If it doesn't work, you've eaten a candy. If it does, you've found something that gives you your life back for a few hours.