During one’s life, one will be treated by a number of dentists, all of whom are different in one way or another. Some of them, I remember, were rather normal and others not quite! When I was in junior high school, I could walk to my dentist because his office was a block away. On one visit to him at 10 a.m., he read me The Riot Act because when I opened my mouth, it was the color of black cherry soda, which I had just drunk.
Shortly after I got married, I went to another dentist, whom I related to you in a former article. This one gave me laughing gas instead of Novocain, and I stood outside waiting for my ride home practicing my rendition of “Singin’ in the Rain.”
Later on, we found a wonderful dentist whom we went to for years. He had an office in his home, which was not too far from us, as well as an office in Philadelphia that I could walk to from work. I remember him as being pretty chubby. Barb remembers him as one with tickly, hairy fingers. Obviously, this was before dentists wore gloves. No matter his weight or his hairy fingers, we both loved him. Unfortunately, after many years as his patients, we missed him dearly when he died of a heart attack.
We moved to Sandy, Utah, about 20 miles south of Salt Lake City for two years for my job. Not knowing anything about the dentists there, I found one in the phone book, gave him a call to see if he was accepting new patients and scheduled a visit with him for a check-up. I got to his office with a few minutes to spare and had to wait quite a while for him because he was not there yet. A funny looking guy, who to me resembled a bicycle carrier of documents to businesses (except he would not have fit on a bike), arrived and I was astonished when I found out he was the dentist! When I sat in the chair, he gave me a double-sided, typed piece of paper that I was to read and sign before he would examine me. After thoroughly reading it, I told him there was no way I could sign it. I don’t think he even knew what it said. Basically, it wanted me to sign my rights away no matter what happened to me. He said it was provided by his insurance carrier, and I had to sign it. I said, “That’s fine, but according to this, if I sign the paper, you could work on me when you were drunk or were high on drugs, and if I sued because of your negligence, I would have no recourse.”
I finally did sign the paper after writing two or three paragraphs at the end, for the most part negating the wording above. He was fine with it. I got through the exam and never saw that dentist again.
You think that’s bad? Wait until you hear the next one. In recent years, I had a tooth that needed extensive work done on it. I was sent to a specialist and was told the procedure would cost $4,500. I checked with one company I was familiar with that did work for much less and found out they would do the work for about $1,500. Having no dental insurance, I chose the latter company. This was my dental experience of a lifetime. The office was a good hour away. Next, in order to complete the procedure, I had to go to three different specialists in the same office on different occasions.
My first visit, I was confronted by a rude receptionist. Then, I was worked on by a Russian dentist whom I had a hard time understanding. Then, the young lady who was his assistant and the dentist started to talk about her love life. But wait! The procedure had to be stopped while the assistant had to go down to her car to get a missing instrument because they had multiple offices (I guess they didn’t have enough instruments for all the offices).
By my second or third visit, the rude receptionist was gone, replaced by a middle-aged man who seemed quite professional. I found out after I left the office that he was the district manager, and I vowed to speak with him on my next visit. My fourth or fifth visit was my final visit. I had a different dentist who was going to complete the procedure. He took an x-ray before starting and asked his assistant to go get the x-ray in another room. She left and came back a few minutes later empty-handed. This was repeated a second time, and when he questioned her, she said she had to ask another employee for the x-ray and the employee didn’t like her and pretended not to even hear her. By this time, the dentist had my mouth fully open and was trying his best to do the job. I waved my hands in the air, and he stopped. I told him if that x-ray could contribute one percent to the success of the procedure, he had to stop everything until he had studied the x-ray! Finally the x-ray was retrieved, and the procedure was finished.
Before I left the office, I told the district manager I needed to talk with him. We went into a small office, and I told him I wanted his company to be successful because of the money they could save me. However, I related my bad experiences with his company. Did it do any good? I don’t know. I guess the old adage of “You get what you pay for” has much truth to it. Barb picked me up in the car and her first words were, “If I need a costly procedure like that, would you make me go to that dentist?” Out of love, I gave her a resounding, “No.”
For the last 16 years, we have been going to a wonderful dentist. At our age, we are guaranteed to have some extensive dentistry in the future. I think we’ll gladly pay top dollar for a good experience.
Jeff Hall, of Honey Brook, contributes columns to Berks-Mont Newspapers.
