Mexican dentists really Make Me smile
UsUally I’M a BUy-CanadIan-fIrst sort of GUy. BUt serIoUsly, when It CoMes to dental Care, they’re MakInG that very hard for the UnInsUred.’
Forgive me, Canadian Dental Association, for I have sinned. I forsook your nation of spotless clinics, your malpractice coverage and your pretty assistants and receptionists. Mostly, though, I forsook your unbelievably expensive bills.
Yes, like some 15,000 Canadians do every year, I went to Mexico instead. And I came back happy, so don’t bother me with a stern lecture if and when I find myself in one of your diamond-encrusted chairs in the future.
Probably by now most Calgarians know somebody who has likewise returned from Mexico with a new smile, many with stories of extraordinary savings. One friend of mine, selfemployed with no dental coverage, had a mouthful of work to be done that was estimated at $20,000. Two visits to Mazatlan later, he reports that he paid around $8,000 for the same services, including travel costs, and he too is delighted with his choice.
Why is it so much cheaper? Well, most things cost less in Mexico, including rent, education and equipment. Dentists there rarely carry student debt, they face less regulatory interference, and they aren’t saddled with malpractice insurance. But one thing that is entirely different is the expectation of earnings by dentists. One figure I read is that it’s $40,000 a year in Mexico, well shy of the six-figure incomes in Alberta, a province said to have some of the most expensive dental care in Canada.
No wonder that the last decade has seen state-ofthe-art dental studios pop up along the U.S. southern border and in vacation spots like Puerto Vallarta and Cancun. Their target clientele is people like me: over-50s who are comfortable with the notion that Mexican professionals can achieve the same standard of care as Canadians. But for those who need their hands held, there are even agents outside of Mexico who take great pains to allay patient fears while guiding them towards clinics of the highest standard.
Not me, though. I went the impromptu route. Last week, we were vacationing in Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca, and we were walking home from the beach through the pretty little town when I spotted a typical Mexican dental office. Not dissimilar from a beauty salon, they tend to be one-room studios with a waiting area consisting of an outdoor bench inset from the sidewalk. I poked my head in the door and saw, beyond the chair, a pretty young dentist named Xochitl Lopez Angeles. I asked in my rudimentary Spanish if she would be able to fix some broken fillings, expecting to make an appointment.
Forget that. One minute later, I was in the chair. Forty minutes after that, I walked out with one filling done and two others prepped. Xochitl — we were friends by now — said I could come back anytime I chose the next day for the balance of the work. Really? On Sunday? No problema.
After three fillings and a thorough cleaning, my bill was a little over $100. Though the trappings of her office were somewhat informal, everything about the dental equipment was identical to ours. So too were her methods, the result of a combined seven years of training.
We conducted our business in Spanish, which I know is not for everyone. Along the way, however, I told Xochitl that she should really consider learning English and begin exploiting the gringo dental tourism trade. She was not aware of it, nor of the extraordinary costs we routinely pay.
All in all, I wouldn’t hesitate to return. Just like my friend, who has grown fond of his dentist in Mazatlan. “The beauty is the honesty of the care,” he told me. “My guy is super practical, and he is not always trying to sell you on big work like they do here. In fact, he talked me out of implants because they’re risky and often unnecessary.”
Usually I’m a buy-Canadian-first sort of guy. But seriously, when it comes to dental care, they’re making that very hard for the uninsured.