I Couldn’t Afford the Dentist and Was Publicly Shamed for It
Class inequality is real, and it happens every day to everyday people
Most days, I find deep satisfaction in writing silly, self-deprecating stories about my strange life and upbringing — tiny moments which, in all likelihood, have brought me to the here and now. I like to write about how at 11 years old, I learned to bake sugar cookies in our double-wide trailer while a wood-burning stove burned hot in the background.
I reminisce upon my teenage years growing up in a small Canadian tourist town and all of the adolescent shenanigans I found myself in, hoping that my children will be tamer in the years to come but knowing that this is only wishful thinking.
The thing is, I am not serious enough, smart enough, self-assured enough, or brave enough to talk about the social injustices I sometimes witness. Competency eludes me, as far as these adult issues go. I should stick to the easy stuff, the funny things.
I should, but I’m going to take a stab at this anyway.
Three years ago
Three years ago, my husband and I were working hard to build our small business — a bakery/sandwich shop. This meant long hours, little money, and no health insurance benefits. When you are a small business owner and struggling to keep your source of revenue afloat, you have to hope for the best when it comes to the “extras” — in this particular case, dental luxuries.
However, Sophie, our daughter, had a cavity. I had no choice but to bring her in. Despite the obsessive brushing regiment, I had her on, the cavity still came. We hadn’t yet got a family dentist in the city, as we were relatively new to the area. And as previously mentioned, dentistry was not in the current household budget.
I made an appointment with a dentist’s office near my home.
Upon arrival, the receptionist asked for my insurance information. I gave her a shrug and told her I didn’t have any. We’d be paying out of pocket.
Of course, we could have swallowed the Blue Cross insurance, which is nearly $200/month and covers roughly 65–70% of the costs, but that did not seem reasonable to me when I looked into it. As I stood there in the waiting room, anxiety-ridden and wondering how much this dental bill was going to cost, $200 a month didn’t t seem so bad. But that’s hindsight for you, isn’t it?
Soph and I sat down, and strangely, the dentist came to us.
There in the crowded little sitting area, where many other patients were awaiting their checkups, the doctor told Sophie to open up. He then proceeded to look into her mouth with his flashlight.
I felt awkward. This couldn’t be right. I’d never had a dentist do this before. Sophie’s discomfiture was growing, as well. She began squirming as the other people in the waiting area whispered amongst themselves. The dentist told me to control my child.
I’m sure you’ve heard those who loudly and proudly dismiss the need for social welfare programs because “those people just need to get off their lazy asses and work for their money like the rest of us.”
Typically, when this dialogue comes up, I remove myself from the conversation.
It’s not worth arguing about, especially for me, a non-confrontational sort of person. However, like most people, I sometimes am given small bursts of bravery. Occasionally, I will, in a calm but shaky voice, remind them that I am one of those people.
I am one of the people who gladly look forward to my monthly baby bucks federal deposit. I have put to use government incentives and “handouts” when times have been tough. I vote left (most of the time) because I believe that social protections are essential for our society’s furtherance and well-being.
A government’s amendment to social policy for the wealthy can be exasperating. I get it. Who wants higher taxes, right? The thing is, for the comfortable middle class, the social welfare policy is more of a “why should my hard-earned dollars go towards them” sort of issue. A tax increase for anyone who is comfortably wealthy is no more than an inconvenience.
But for those living paycheck to paycheck, or worse yet, relying on social welfare cheques, a change to policy can be downright devastating. One month without this counted upon income could mean eviction or the hungry bellies of a child.
“This cavity is a bad one,” the dentist proclaimed, “When was the last time you brought her in for a checkup?”
When I softly asked if we could move to an office or private waiting room, he ignored my request and said, “Answer my question,” And because I have this awful nervousness when it comes to authority figures, I obeyed.
“Well, it’s been over a year. We’ve just started a new business, and money is a little tight,” I stammered, feeling all of the eyes in the waiting room on me.
“That’s no excuse. Don’t you understand what neglected dental health can do to a child? What kind of a mother are you?” These were his exact words. I felt small — inept as a caregiver. Completely useless, as the strangers in the room stared into their phones and magazines, pretending not to hear my scolding.
“Well, bring her back, I guess. We’ll have to get this fixed up. We don’t do payment plans here, so will you even be able to pay for the procedure?”
I want to tell you that I wasn’t crying.
That I was strong for my daughter, and I said to the old fuck to get stuffed and found a better, kindlier dentist’s office. I want to say that I didn’t allow his blatant spiel of classism to get to me, and I overcame this situation. That I reported him and his practice. If only I could tell you that I was brave enough to stand up to this man who believed he was superior to me.
Yes, now, today, my husband works at a union job where a good dental plan is included in the benefits package.
And we are so grateful and fortunate. But that shouldn’t matter. Back then, as I sat sobbing into my hands while an old man chided me for being a neglectful parent, I took it. I soaked in his words and they became gospel to me over time.
Because we were a low-income family, we were unsuccessful parents. We did not have the means to care for our children properly.
We all seem to know what is best for society at large. When we hear of hard-knock cases that have had to move their families into shelters, or new countries for that matter, to escape poverty, war, natural disasters, danger, we say, “Well, if that was me, I’d…”
The reality is that it isn’t us until that moment we’re crying in front of a room full of strangers. And by that time, nobody cares about our opinion because our poverty has made us insubstantial.
When I find the nerve to refute those who tell me that welfare earners should get off their butts and work, my recipients usually reply with shock, “No, not you! You guys have just had a bad run of luck. I didn’t mean you guys.” With sheepishness dripping off of their tongues, they say, “Obviously YOU are hard workers. I mean, the people who take advantage of the system.”
But isn’t it just a “bad run of luck” for almost everyone? Whether it be depression, mental health issues, job loss, a bad economy, family issues, or a failed dream, there is always something that contributes to this bad run of luck.
“I don’t know why you’re crying,” the dentist said as I quietly sobbed in the corner of the room while Sophie had her cavity filled. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I didn’t respond. How could I? Who am I to deny it? Back against the wall, I had nowhere to go but cower.
We never went back to that dentist’s office — I’m sure you can imagine why.
We found a different place that did accept payment plans and, more importantly, understood. They helped me find social assistance programs to help with our dental costs until we got back on our feet. They uplifted rather than demeaned.
I cried in this new dental office too. Not out of shame or embarrassment, but because of these strangers willing — no, wanting — to help.
The spectrum of financial and social issues that face everyday people is vast and, to some, incomprehensible. We think that we know all of the answers to the real and very human problems that face our cities, countries, and world.
But the most accurate answer is to show your empathy and simply be kind.
Sometimes I feel that I am not serious enough or smart enough to speak about politics, social welfare, and the human condition.
And, likely, I didn’t get all right here. My article might be a little messy and too emotional. I haven’t provided any solutions to the problem of class oppression either, only the sage advice is to be empathetic to other people’s situations. But maybe that’s what we need most right now. I am starting to realize that the time to be brave is now. To speak up and tell not only the funny stories but the important ones, too.
The more stories we hear and read and see on these social issues, the more understanding and education they will breed. The conversation is the beginning.
Life can be lonely; it’s time that we share our stories and stop feeling so alone.
This story was originally published on Thought Catalog under the title, The Unedited Truth About Living in Poverty.