My dentist charged me thousands for a mouth full of unnecessary fillings

The bathroom renovation was complete. Or so I thought. The floor tiles were the big ticket item. Handmade in Spain. Encaustic. Expensive. Bloody expensive. But you can’t put a price on the beauty of hand-painted Japanese koi and lotus flowers. Besides, I was only doing this bathroom once, which, I reasoned, justified the extravagance.

Five years on, I still have the builder and tiler on speed-dial for return visits. The problem? Crumbling grout caused by floor movement that’s entailed the removal and replacement of the not-very-old grout.

The dental plan conceived for my friend was eerily similar to my own.

Annoying as all of this continues to be, I’m buoyed by the knowledge that this work is covered by a warranty and that I have a builder and a somewhat beleaguered tiler committed to resolving the issue at no additional cost to me. I am also buoyed by the fact that the industry is monitored by regulatory bodies that provide an avenue for complaint.

When dental procedures go awry though, it’s not as simple. As I recently learnt.

For some years now, I’ve been caught in a protracted dental renovation the cost of which is on track to rival the bathroom. Much like my bathroom, the work is never quite finished. Unlike my bathroom, however, endless return visits are not covered by warranty.

I had been going to the dentist, whom I’ll call Digger, every three to six months as advised for check-ups. During each routine clean and scale, though, Digger would invariably discover a cavity that needed filling or old fillings that needed replacing. Blindsided by Digger’s enthusiasm for drilling and scraping my teeth, I had no hesitation in recommending them when someone who recently moved to the area asked me if Digger was a good dentist.

But, my last visit was just that. An X-ray revealed three small cavities had developed in less than six months. While in the chair, Digger decided to also replace the fillings in two additional teeth. It’s difficult to say no when you have drill bits and a suction stick in your mouth and so, after three hours in the chair, I was relieved of a month’s pay.

One of the old fillings Digger replaced was a very large one that had lived a happy and uneventful existence in my molar for decades. Within days, though, pain from the tooth sent me back to the chair – a bit too much grout, apparently.

The following week, I returned again. This time, Digger said it wasn’t the molar causing the grief after all, but the pesky wisdom tooth next to it which needed to be promptly removed.

The following week, the cavity from the wisdom tooth had healed nicely, but the pain in the molar had worsened. This time, Digger surmised that a hairline crack in the molar was the problem and that encasing it in a metal band should do the trick. If not, a root canal would definitely fix it. I protested that the tooth had been fine prior to the excavation. Digger’s defence was that it was a very large filling, so cracking was to be expected (something they’d failed to mention before undertaking the work).

Not long after this ordeal, I ran into the person I’d recommended Digger to. The friend had recently been to see Digger, and what he recounted made me feel queasy.

Digger had drawn up a treatment plan for him that bore an uncanny similarity to the work I’d recently had done, including the replacement of old fillings. All up, the work would cost my friend $5000. The friend then took Digger’s plan to two other dentists for their opinion where, upon inspection of his teeth, both dentists could find nothing wrong. One of the dentists, particularly horrified at the treatment plan, said dentists like Digger were a disgrace to the profession.

For the cost of $200 and two dental visits, he was able to confirm that Digger was a dud.

The metal band Digger placed around my tooth, which was no doubt intended to wed us together until such time that I’d relinquished at least a few more thousand dollars, has since been removed by another dentist who concluded it served absolutely no purpose. The tooth that had never caused a problem before coming into contact with Digger’s drill is now set to become an implant.

Before breaking up, Digger and I went head to head. I raised the alarmingly similar treatment plans of other patients, along with the money I’d spent on unnecessary dental work, but Digger’s resolve never wavered.

The treatment undertaken was informed by professional judgment, Digger told me.

Unlike my builder and tiler, though, the options for recourse differ greatly. I could lodge a complaint with the Australian Dental Council, but that term Digger used, “professional judgment”, would ultimately prevail over the judgments of a cranky consumer with no qualifications in dentistry.

Interestingly, the builder’s cognisance that I have no qualifications in the construction industry has never impeded his commitment to keeping the koi swimming among the lotuses.

Carol Hart is a freelance writer.

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