Dil-Do or Dil-Don’t?

The most awkward healthcare pitch I’ve ever taken seriously.

So I just got off the phone with my friend Eric.

We met years ago, back when I was launching Cutting Edge. He had reached out and said someone recommended he speak to me. Would I be willing to come down to Tustin to meet him and his colleague?

It’s about an hour from where I live, but sure, I was game.

I texted him the address of the only kosher eatery in the area, a modest sandwich and salad shop tucked into a strip mall next to the only kosher supermarket around. I parked, grabbed a table, and waited, watching people come and go, having zero clue what I was walking into.

Eventually, two heavyset blokes walked up and asked:

“Are you Meyer?”

I said yes, we shook hands, sat down, and I asked:

“So..how can I help you guys?”

Eric introduced himself as an Orange County real estate guy. Then he told me something unexpected: from a young age, he’d been dealing with a medical condition involving his prostate. It caused him to dribble and never fully void when urinating. Quiet, persistent, and deeply personal. Clothes got soiled. Sometimes there was odor. It was the kind of thing nobody talks about, except the person suffering... and the one doing the laundry.

I asked what kind of market he was envisioning and whether there were existing solutions. He told me a large percentage of adults over 40 deal with this, but it’s mostly unspoken and untreated due to stigma.

I asked if he had commercialized anything. He said he had a rough prototype and was exploring utility patents.

And then came the moment I’ll never forget.

The Reveal

He reached into his bag and pulled out something that looked like a sheer sock, rigged with what seemed like a trimmed-down sanitary napkin.

I looked at him.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious,” he said. “I’m all in.”

I asked what his bill of materials looked like. He stared blankly.

I asked him to show me how it worked. That’s when things turned… theatrical.

He scanned the area like we were about to do a drug deal, then slowly reached into the bag, and pulled out:

An enormous, black, rubber penis.

Yes. You read that correctly.

I actually thought I was on Candid Camera. I scanned the strip mall for hidden lenses.

They started laughing.

“What the heck is that?! Put it away!” I told him. “I’m a community guy! The last thing I need is someone snapping a photo of this scene.”

He handed me the prototype and the accompanying appendages and told me to do some research. Then he asked for feedback once I’d had time to think.

We wrapped up. I stepped next door to grab some South African meats from the kosher market... but I just couldn’t bring myself to buy the kielbasa I usually enjoy. Holding that bag, it felt wrong.

I drove home. Tossed the bag into the front closet. Filed it away in my head.

Shabbos Surprise

Fast forward to a Shabbos afternoon. Around noon. I was the Chazan that day, a role I love.

Just as I stepped back from the pulpit, my youngest son, Semmy, walked in with a look of urgency. He whispered:

“Mom wants to see you. RIGHT now.”

I wrapped up quickly, asked the guy next to me to take over, and rushed home.

Roza was standing at the front door with her friend who had been staying over. She guided me into our bedroom, shut the door behind us, and, clearly shaken, pulled out a bag.

That bag.

Eyes full of confusion, voice cracking, she pulled out…

The Sock Prototype, then…One long, black penis. One smaller, white penis. And a look that said: “We need to talk.”

“What the heck is this, Boruch??!”

I collapsed in laughter. Full hysteria. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t talk.

When I finally pulled myself together, I told her the story about Eric.

She was, thankfully, relieved.

That story became legend in our home. I’ve told it at least a hundred times. The kids know it. Roza remembers every detail.

Fast Forward

Today, Eric and I caught up.

He told me he’s still telling that story too, usually as an icebreaker when someone asks about the product.

But here’s the thing: the prototype is now fully developed. It’s being trialed by people of all ages and levels of urinary incontinence. It’s ready for larger-scale manufacturing and a broad marketing campaign.

He’s sending me updated samples and setting up a call with contract manufacturers. I’ll be heading to the factory to meet the team.

As we wrapped up, I told him I was genuinely in awe of his persistence. While staying in real estate, he put every spare hour, and even mortgaged his home, to bring this product to life.

And I told him:

“Eric, you’ve come a long way. Honestly? I think your product’s finally at its tipping point.”

He burst out laughing. We both knew what I meant. And what I didn’t.

Why I Love Healthcare

All jokes aside. It’s stories like this that remind me why I love working in healthcare.

Not the systems.The people.

People who’ve lived through stigma, trauma, embarrassment, and shame, and decided to build something that restores dignity.

I don’t know where Eric’s story ends.

But if I’m deciding whether to Dil-Do or Dil-Don’t…

Let’s just say….I’m leaning Dil-Do.

And Roza’s perfectly fine with it.