Skip to main content

This is a Public Service Announcement

It is a rainy Friday night. A slight-framed 30-something woman with mousy brown hair quickly scans the sidewalk before ducking in the back door of the community church. The bright light makes her squint as she looks around the conference room. Plain white walls. Dark stained trim. A dry erase board and a circle of folding chairs. She sighs in relief when she spots the snack table across the room. Maybe a cookie and a cuppa joe will relax me, she thinks as she crosses the room. What the #$#%%! she mutters as she sees the table is not full of sweet goodies but carrot and celery sticks and a carafe of water.
Reluctantly, she takes some vegetables and sits down. A woman with khakis and Birkenstocks enters the room. She's the group leader. She introduces herself and it begins. When it is her turn, the mousy brown haired woman stands up and speaks clearly. It is time to confess: Hello. My name is Alyssa *(real name withheld) and I have a sweet tooth.
Fortunately in this day and age, medical research has proven that addictions are not our own decisions. It is genetic. We can't resist our urges. We try to fight them but they overtake us and eat us alive. Too bad that it is her own eating that is the demise of our Alyssa. Poor Alyssa who was more or less born with this malicious disease. With rotten teeth.
12 step programs. MART: Mothers Against Rotten Teeth, PFPWRT: Parents and Friends of People with Rotten Teeth. There's help. There's support. But, is there an end to this epidemic? The recovery is painful. Enduring the pain one minute with endless needles and drills. Sweat pouring, stomach turning. Gripping the chair. Paper bibs and bad wall and ceiling art. No end in sight. Pain. Intense pain.
Success is driving home, your face looking like you have Bells-Palsy. Let's go back to our mousy friend Alyssa. After her treatment she's home-free and cavity-free. On the way home, to celebrate, she stops at the local quickie mart to get a cappuccino from the machine and a donut. She at least remembers to get a straw for the cappuccino. Only a little bit slips out of the corner of her numb mouth as she drives home, sipping and munching her sugary treats. Is it really her fault, that unlike the rest of the population, she can't just have a little bit of sugar? That her teeth soak it up, let it dig in and rot, rot until there's no turning back and no happy ending and she looses tooth after tooth. Not even a guilty brushing is going to save these less-than-pearly whites.
You can help. For just $1 a day you can sponsor our friend Alyssa. Your support will buy Alyssa dental floss, a state of the art Oral-B tooth brush and pay the interest toward her $18,000 Care Credit card balance. You can make a difference. Please call 1-800-BAD-TEETH right now. With your pledge you'll receive a PanX of Alyssa's teeth and a monthly newsletter telling the story of others just like Alyssa who need our help. Act now.


Popular posts from this blog

Me V. Parental Judgement

When you are pregnant, there’s so much to think about when considering the future: what color to paint the nursery, what decorating scheme to select from Pottery Barn, whether to go with disposable or reusable diapers, what to name your little nugget, and even deciding to use a cake or a box of balloons for the gender reveal party. You quickly learn that, if you share any of these decisions with anyone, you are bound to get opinions- lots of them. And, while this isn’t the first time we get solicited or unsolicited advice (where to go to college, what to choose as a major, what profession to pursue, who to date, who to marry, what dress to wear to the wedding, who to invite to the wedding, what type of alcohol to serve at the wedding..) the birth of a child seems like the first time that SO MANY opinions are given. It’s already a time of anxiety and unknowns that the opinions of others can easily feel overwhelming.What, I should have gotten the rocker that swings from side to side ins…

Holiday Letters- in Two Versions!

I don’t know about you but I love a good holiday letter. Nothing sends me into a tailspin of self doubt and depression like reading the carefully crafted story of the highs and accomplishments of those in my life. As the letters flow in, alongside the photos of the beautiful smiling faces of my loved ones, I curl up under a warm blanket, look out at the bleak, gray winter skies and think: what the fu#k is wrong with me?We are so fortunate, due to modern technological advances, to be able to experience this self doubt an average of 20-50 times per day as we addictively scroll a variety of social media channels. Yet nothing truly confirms our own personal inadequacies like a yearly summary of others’ successes and happiness neatly packed in an 8 1/2 X 11 sheet of paper, folded in thirds and slipped into an envelope alongside a card collage of beach shots, matching sweaters and smiling, happy faces. I, too, have sent along such letters to accompany our smiling happy faces, providing thos…

Work Family

Did you know that you spend around 90,360 hours at work during your lifetime? I usually only write about my job in the most vague terms but work is, and always has been, a really important and vital part of my life. A hundred years ago, when I left my first professional job, I remember it felt like somebody died. At the time, Andy, who, shockingly wasn't in touch with my emotions, asked me why I was felt this way. I told him I was so upset because I felt like I was leaving my family. I can still remember, clear as day, when I gave my resignation. I had just taken a ride in the Oscar Meyer wiener hot dog mobile (Yeah I know I had an awesome job) and I felt incredibly sick to my stomach. I went home that night and cried like somebody died. I remember Andy asking me why I was so upset and I wasn’t sure how to articulate it. Looking back now I better understand why I had such a visceral reaction to leaving my employer. I think part of it was because it was my first real job. I think …