Americans flock to Mexico for dentistry

[Guest guest]

Americans flock to Mexico for dentistry

" Dentistas " charge cut rates. Their U.S. counterparts tell horror

stories, which are hotly disputed.

By Roig-Franzia, Washington Post

CIUDAD JUAREZ, Mexico - Judy Salvador, a retired American Airlines

ticket agent, recently typed two words into Google's search engine:

" cheap dentists. "

Salvador loves cheap - she prepped for her nuptials by typing in

" cheap wedding " - and her quest for cut-rate dentistry didn't disappoint.

At her computer in suburban Miami, Fla., Salvador found herself in an

international cyber-bazaar of dentistry come-ons that targeted

patients in the United States, where 45 percent of the population has

no dental insurance. The Internet offers crowns in Costa Rica, where

" a few miles buys beautiful smiles " ; root canals in Bangkok and

Caracas, and implants in Budapest.

Tempted as she was to head for Thailand, the 58-year-old Salvador

chose Mexico, whose border cities are fast transforming into catch

basins for millions of bargain-hunting and uninsured Americans.

Arizona retirement communities organize regular bus tours for Mexican

dental work and inexpensive drugs. New hospitals have opened in

Tijuana, because some U.S. health plans have begun covering services

in Mexico. And tiny border communities are becoming dentistry

boomtowns to handle a growing flow of Americans who fly in from as far

off as Alaska.

Americans travel to Mexico for stomach surgery, eye exams and routine

checkups. But it is the dentistas - thousands strung along the border

- who are in the vanguard in attracting U.S. health consumers.

Mexican dentists often charge one-fifth to one-fourth of those north

of the border. Their operating costs are substantially lower, and

because the Mexican legal system makes it almost impossible to sue

them, they don't have to worry about high malpractice premiums.

With such a differential, residents of the border city of El Paso,

Texas, sometimes decline dental insurance to avoid paying even modest

premiums for employer plans, said Nuria Homedes, a University of Texas

public health expert.

The phenomenon has unsettled U.S.-based dentists, who tell horror

stories of rampant infections, undetected cases of oral cancer and

shoddy work south of the border - contentions hotly disputed by

Mexican dentists. Rick Murray, executive director of the Arizona

Dental Association, said he recently talked a friend out of taking his

son to Mexico for treatment.

" That he would put his own son at risk to save a few dollars, he

should be ashamed of himself, " Murray says.

But some U.S. dentists, Murray says, have conceded to the competition

and have begun a " reverse migration, " opening offices in Mexico to

take advantage of lower costs.

The Mexican dental empire comes into view the moment Americans step

off the footbridge that leads from downtown El Paso to Ciudad Juarez.

The first building they see is a squat dental office with tinted

windows. Once they hit downtown's Juarez Avenue, they find taxi

drivers hustling fares for trips to the dentist - " Don't worry. Clean.

You'll like them " - along with the usual pitches for prostitutes,

cocaine and discount cowboy boots.

Salvador, who doesn't speak Spanish, made an appointment with Rio

Dental, where 99 percent of patients come from the United States. A

van picked her up at the El Paso airport, and she got a $50-a-night

dental special at a hotel.

Later that day, the office's van pulled up in El Paso to collect more

patients. A weary couple, pulling rolling suitcases, and

Gloria Hunt piled into the van. The Hunts had reserved tickets to

Hungary for dental work, but a friend said Ciudad Juarez was better.

Like many who come here, the Hunts hadn't seen a dentist in years and

planned to get major work done - including nine crowns for Gloria and

a partial denture for , all for about $4,000, or one-fourth

what they would have paid in Florida. The savings, they figured, was

enough to justify $399 each in airline tickets.

The Hunts were about to head into an examination room, equipped with

state-of-the-art flat-screen X-ray monitors, when the whole place went

dark. The office manager ran outside, returning to report that a

repair crew had shut power without warning.

Two hours later, after a chile relleno at Frida's, the Hunts were back

at Rio Dental, where Andel - a dentist trained in Mexico who

attends professional seminars in the United States - was grinding

Salvador's lower front teeth into slender stubs.

From there, Salvador shuffled out to review her treatment plan and

bill: $5,503. A dentist in the United States had quoted nearly $15,000

for a shorter list of procedures. But Salvador, the inveterate bargain

hunter, planned to comparison shop before returning to Rio Dental.

A few blocks away at Union Dental, she listened to Alarcon bash

some of his competitors - " they're laundering money for drug dealers. "

But his big pitch was for a device that he said increased blood flow

to the brain by stopping patients from clenching their teeth.

" Your eyesight comes back, " Alarcon promised as Salvador listened in

awe. " It makes you lose weight. Alzheimer's? It cures that. "

Salvador leaned forward.

" Oh, my God, I have to bring my dad! " she said. " I want one for myself. "

Alarcon smiled: " How about you come by on Friday? "

http://www.philly.com/inquirer/health_science/weekly/20070702_Americans_flock_to\

_Mexico_for_dentistry.html