USA - Many Turned Away From Free Dental Care Clinic
Many Turned Away From Free Dental Care Clinic
Apr 13, 2008
The line of taillights glowing in the pre-dawn darkness snaked back nearly a mile from the old Tolland High School on Saturday.
Closer to the school, people were walking along the side of the road, a steady stream of dark silhouettes rising out of the morning mist like refugees in a war zone.
There were elderly couples clutching their canes, hunched-over veterans, single mothers with young children in tow. A woman on crutches limping along.
It was 5 a.m., and they came by the hundreds, a throng of pilgrims with a common goal -- free dental care.
Some heard about it on the radio, others saw it on TV or read about it in the newspaper. Connecticut's Mission of Mercy, the first ever single, large-scale free dental clinic to be offered in the state.
"This shows we have a broken system and have to find some way to correct it," said Dr. Bob Schreibman, a Glastonbury pediatric dentist and one of the Connecticut mission's organizers. "This is not a solution. This is a stop-gap measure to address people's immediate needs. This points out there is a huge need even in this, the richest state in the country."
Inside the school, more than 190 volunteer dentists were waiting along with 800 volunteers. Free fillings, check-ups, extractions. No questions asked.
The high school's cafeteria and gym were outfitted like a field hospital, with 60 dental chairs shipped in from the Midwest, portable X-ray machines and boxes upon boxes of latex gloves and sterilized dental tools.
The crush of patients was so large that by 7 a.m., people were being turned away.
When Carol Dingledey, executive director of the Connecticut State Dental Association, arrived to set up at 4 a.m., there were already 350 people outside the door. Some came the night before and camped out. Others drove hours in the dark hoping to be seen.
"It just goes to show you how many people don't have dental insurance," said Mary, a 70-year-old woman, standing in a line of about 100 people outside the school at 5:30 a.m.
Leaning on her cane, Mary, who didn't want to give her last name, said she spent her entire life working and raising nine children and grandchildren. Now on limited income, she can't afford dental insurance, never mind pay fees out of her pocket. She hasn't been to a dentist in eight years. Her teeth hurt. She needs a filling, and a cap had come off.
"I've never been on welfare; I've never had to struggle to get by," Mary said. "But here it is. This is the bottom of the line. I'm just trying to get by."
About a half-mile away in the parking lot of the new Tolland High School, where organizers had set up a shuttle parking area, Rhonda Slattery, 54, sat in her motorized wheelchair waiting for her husband, Joe. They had just finished the hourlong ride from Barkhamsted and weren't sure the school bus shuttling people to the make-shift clinic was handicapped accessible.
"I'm just amazed at the number of people here at this hour of the morning," said Rhonda Slattery, whose limited Social Security disability income makes it difficult for her to afford dental care.
As she spoke, the sky opened up and it started to rain. Hard.
Inside the school at 7 a.m., what could be the largest waiting room in Connecticut was packed to its 700-seat capacity. The auditorium was full of people: more retirees, working people, college kids, entire families. Some huddled under blankets. Others sat quietly, waiting for their number to be called, many of their faces swollen or creased in pain.
In the triage area just outside the auditorium, dentists peered into people's mouths with portable flashlights. Nurses and dental assistants hustled about -- checking blood pressures, taking X-rays, injecting Novocain.
In the gymnasium, down the hall the high-pitched whine of dental drills floated above the crowd as dozens of dentists treated patients. Those awaiting care sat in the bleachers, then moved to metal folding chairs before reaching the dental chairs. A squad of stand-by dentists stood off to the side, scrubbed and ready, waiting to replace their peers when their hands cramped and they needed a break.
The two-day clinic opened at 5 and the work would not stop until 5 p.m. Today it continues from 5 a.m. to noon.
Sitting among the throng were Susan and Brian Boyce of Eastford, both 41, who came to the clinic with their seven children -- from age 12 down to 11 months. (The baby was just along for the ride.) Brian is an executive director at the Porter and Chester Institute. Susan is a registered nurse who stays home with the kids.
But they don't have dental insurance and with annual dental check-ups costing more than $1,000 a year, paying for even routine dental care is difficult, they said.
"The dentists don't take payment plans, they want the money up front, and that's a big chunk of money when you try to go every year," Susan said. ."
Shortly after 7 a.m. the clinic was maxed out. Organizers began turning people away at the door. The backlog was so deep that it would take the rest of the day just to treat those already there. Later in the morning, the clinic reopened briefly, and another 100 or so patients were let in. It abruptly closed again by 10 a.m.
For some, the clinic is a blessing, a reprieve from their aches and pain. But for those who didn't get inside, the struggle continues. Many in the pre-dawn dark turned back upon seeing the long line.
"It's pretty bad," said one 67-year-old Stafford Springs woman, as she walked back to the parking lot with no umbrella, soaking wet from the rain. Struggling to catch her breath from the walk, the woman said she had come to get her tooth pulled at 5 a.m. but already knew she'd never get in. Like the others, she can't afford dental insurance.
As she climbed into her car, the woman was asked what she was going to do. Water dripped off her hair as she wearily shook her head.
"Just going to pray, I guess."
In Connecticut where fluoridation is state-mandated:NYSCOF
Apr 13, 2008
The line of taillights glowing in the pre-dawn darkness snaked back nearly a mile from the old Tolland High School on Saturday.
Closer to the school, people were walking along the side of the road, a steady stream of dark silhouettes rising out of the morning mist like refugees in a war zone.
There were elderly couples clutching their canes, hunched-over veterans, single mothers with young children in tow. A woman on crutches limping along.
It was 5 a.m., and they came by the hundreds, a throng of pilgrims with a common goal -- free dental care.
Some heard about it on the radio, others saw it on TV or read about it in the newspaper. Connecticut's Mission of Mercy, the first ever single, large-scale free dental clinic to be offered in the state.
"This shows we have a broken system and have to find some way to correct it," said Dr. Bob Schreibman, a Glastonbury pediatric dentist and one of the Connecticut mission's organizers. "This is not a solution. This is a stop-gap measure to address people's immediate needs. This points out there is a huge need even in this, the richest state in the country."
Inside the school, more than 190 volunteer dentists were waiting along with 800 volunteers. Free fillings, check-ups, extractions. No questions asked.
The high school's cafeteria and gym were outfitted like a field hospital, with 60 dental chairs shipped in from the Midwest, portable X-ray machines and boxes upon boxes of latex gloves and sterilized dental tools.
The crush of patients was so large that by 7 a.m., people were being turned away.
When Carol Dingledey, executive director of the Connecticut State Dental Association, arrived to set up at 4 a.m., there were already 350 people outside the door. Some came the night before and camped out. Others drove hours in the dark hoping to be seen.
"It just goes to show you how many people don't have dental insurance," said Mary, a 70-year-old woman, standing in a line of about 100 people outside the school at 5:30 a.m.
Leaning on her cane, Mary, who didn't want to give her last name, said she spent her entire life working and raising nine children and grandchildren. Now on limited income, she can't afford dental insurance, never mind pay fees out of her pocket. She hasn't been to a dentist in eight years. Her teeth hurt. She needs a filling, and a cap had come off.
"I've never been on welfare; I've never had to struggle to get by," Mary said. "But here it is. This is the bottom of the line. I'm just trying to get by."
About a half-mile away in the parking lot of the new Tolland High School, where organizers had set up a shuttle parking area, Rhonda Slattery, 54, sat in her motorized wheelchair waiting for her husband, Joe. They had just finished the hourlong ride from Barkhamsted and weren't sure the school bus shuttling people to the make-shift clinic was handicapped accessible.
"I'm just amazed at the number of people here at this hour of the morning," said Rhonda Slattery, whose limited Social Security disability income makes it difficult for her to afford dental care.
As she spoke, the sky opened up and it started to rain. Hard.
Inside the school at 7 a.m., what could be the largest waiting room in Connecticut was packed to its 700-seat capacity. The auditorium was full of people: more retirees, working people, college kids, entire families. Some huddled under blankets. Others sat quietly, waiting for their number to be called, many of their faces swollen or creased in pain.
In the triage area just outside the auditorium, dentists peered into people's mouths with portable flashlights. Nurses and dental assistants hustled about -- checking blood pressures, taking X-rays, injecting Novocain.
In the gymnasium, down the hall the high-pitched whine of dental drills floated above the crowd as dozens of dentists treated patients. Those awaiting care sat in the bleachers, then moved to metal folding chairs before reaching the dental chairs. A squad of stand-by dentists stood off to the side, scrubbed and ready, waiting to replace their peers when their hands cramped and they needed a break.
The two-day clinic opened at 5 and the work would not stop until 5 p.m. Today it continues from 5 a.m. to noon.
Sitting among the throng were Susan and Brian Boyce of Eastford, both 41, who came to the clinic with their seven children -- from age 12 down to 11 months. (The baby was just along for the ride.) Brian is an executive director at the Porter and Chester Institute. Susan is a registered nurse who stays home with the kids.
But they don't have dental insurance and with annual dental check-ups costing more than $1,000 a year, paying for even routine dental care is difficult, they said.
"The dentists don't take payment plans, they want the money up front, and that's a big chunk of money when you try to go every year," Susan said. ."
Shortly after 7 a.m. the clinic was maxed out. Organizers began turning people away at the door. The backlog was so deep that it would take the rest of the day just to treat those already there. Later in the morning, the clinic reopened briefly, and another 100 or so patients were let in. It abruptly closed again by 10 a.m.
For some, the clinic is a blessing, a reprieve from their aches and pain. But for those who didn't get inside, the struggle continues. Many in the pre-dawn dark turned back upon seeing the long line.
"It's pretty bad," said one 67-year-old Stafford Springs woman, as she walked back to the parking lot with no umbrella, soaking wet from the rain. Struggling to catch her breath from the walk, the woman said she had come to get her tooth pulled at 5 a.m. but already knew she'd never get in. Like the others, she can't afford dental insurance.
As she climbed into her car, the woman was asked what she was going to do. Water dripped off her hair as she wearily shook her head.
"Just going to pray, I guess."
In Connecticut where fluoridation is state-mandated:NYSCOF
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