To the Orthodontist: Korean Style

Nick and I have long known that David and Elisabeth's big overbites would need some sort of orthodontic work. We debated doing this in the US but decided to wait until we'd settled in here (and Elisabeth lost more baby teeth).  I got some ex-pat recommendations about English-speaking orthodontists in Pohang and we picked the MIR Dental Clinic.  Today we went during the time we were told the English-speaking orthodontist was on staff (remember: appointments are not typical for medical offices here - you just show up and wait).

My American readers shall now imagine a waiting room, a clipboard of forms to complete, the dance regarding payments and insurance, and a be-gloved guy examining the children's teeth and talking about possible treatment plans.

And you wouldn't be far wrong.  But it's the ten thousand myriad ways that expectations are not quite right that can wear out the foreigner (but today that came only after a period of giddy silliness, which you'll see shortly).

We found the MIR Dental Clinic fairly easily--a minor miracle in itself given the challenging address system in this city.  I vaguely remembered hearing that the office was on the 5th floor, which was a fortunate guess as the building and elevator directories were completely in Korean and my reading level is still slow to abysmal.    

At the reception desk, Nick, being Nick, gave a full explanation of our desires vis-a-vis David and Elisabeth's orthodontic needs.  She looked blankly at him.  I said "Foreign. English.  Doctor."  She nodded and pointed to the waiting area.  

So, we waited.  She eventually brought us clipboards with paperwork for each child, and she asked their ages.  Which, of course, depends on whose cultural context we're working in:  David is 14 in America, but he's 15 in Korea or possibly 16, depending on whether we count this year's "birthday" as happening over last week's Lunar New Year.  I think.  So Elisabeth is 11 or 12 or maybe even 13.  And I couldn't remember how to say any of those numbers in Korean so I just assumed she knew more English than she had been letting on.  So, after fumbling though this conversation, we turned to the clipboarded forms.  

The shortest medical form ever.

The forms were--blessedly--in English. But so brief that I wondered whether we were missing something. (Being a foreigner makes you suspicious about such things.)  In the US, we'd fill out pages of information about each kids' medical history, insurance, payment plans, consent for treatment, HIPPA, etc.  Here it's just a 1/2 page medical checklist and very little demographic information. None, in fact.  

Dr. Kim, center white-coat-guy, surrounded by an
astonishingly attractive array of hygienists.

We were then motioned to come to a private consultation room (this motion was done Korean-style, with an odd hand-flap, fingers down, which in the US might mean "shoo!). A lab-coated man entered, bowed briefly, explained that "My English not so good" and motioned for David to get into the examination chair. Dr. Kim (I proudly read his Korean nametag) donned a single latex glove (right hand), looked at David's profile and in his mouth, then wrote some notes.  He removed his glove, washed his hands, put on a new glove before repeating the process with Elisabeth.  He returns to our little table and explains what he sees. Which sounds simple, but it's a 20-minute, stop-and-start, fill-in-the-blank, nodding-and-smiling-induced headache of a conversation about possible outcomes and treatments.  Bottom line: both kids' lower jaws are smaller than their upper jaws; treatment will depend on x-rays of their mouths and hands.

Wait a minute: hand x-rays?  Yes, for... (much pausing, gesturing toward wrists).. Growth plates?  I ask. He nods.  Ok.  Let's do this.

The kids were escorted down the hall to another plush waiting area.  I went to sit with them and Nick followed, only to discover that a hygienist has more questions for us in the consultation room.  I pretended ignorance and remained with the kids, a little frustrated that it's hard to know when and where we're supposed to be.  I did get to ponder the odd sign in the consultation room across from us:  "Maximum Emotion Service" sounds more like a bad counseling approach rather than orthodontistry. I also wondered about the intended audience, as the sign is only in English and it's clear the MIR clinic doesn't engage in a lot of English fluency.

Elisabeth stands in the jaw-alignment-x-ray machine.
No lead aprons or other protection for  her, though the
technician leaves the room and closes the door.

Anyway, Elisabeth was called in for a panoramic x-ray, then sat back in the waiting area while the technicians (all ungloved) checked the hallway computer to see if the image had turned out.  Then she was called in for a "supplemental" x-ray, and sat back down to wait.  Finally, she got her hand x-rayed.  Meantime, David was called down the hall to get dental impressions (bright pink goo) and photographs. Then Elisabeth and David switched places. The only gloves anyone used were for mixing the goo.

I am not sure what caused Nick and I to start getting silly, but our surreptitious picture-taking got more and more obvious. At least four technicians were actually working with the kids but others occasionally pranced down the hall to visit with their co-workers and point and giggle at us.  I love, love the Korean prance: straight, stiff arms; head down; light-footed trotting with knees barely bent.  Korean males and females both run this way, and sometimes, in my more adolescent moments in the grocery store or elsewhere, I will try it.  Somehow, it makes me happy, like the swings at the park.

I couldn't help laughing at David's plight:
he used plastic tools to pull his lips/cheeks out of the way
so one technician could insert a hand mirror and another could take close-ups.

David then gets his x-rays, following the pantomimed directions
for proper positioning.

At this point, we're obnoxiously taking photos. 

Finally, after all the x-rays and impressions and pictures are done, a woman brings Nick a card with our follow-up appointment.  And she shows us her phone, where she has entered a message for us to see. Despite the translation from Korean to English, we are not entirely sure of what's being asked of us besides "bring a translator next time."  So much for an English-speaking orthodontist clinic.

Bottom line for today: for about $220, we got 6 sets of x-rays, 2 sets of dental impressions, dozens of digital photos, and 2 individual exams by an orthodontist.  Not bad in terms of money, but downright exhausting in terms of social/emotional energy.  I took a long nap when we got home.  The next appointment is in 2 weeks....