Before I flew – the first cracks

The day of my "final" visit to Turkey arrived. In theory this was supposed to be just the crowns stage, a beautiful smile and closing the whole story. In practice – inside I already felt an unease I couldn't ignore.

The girl I'd met during my first visit was still struggling with pain. I advised her to write to the clinic. She did. The reply was quick and very "by the book": "this is normal, the pain will pass soon".

Only time passed. She swelled up so much that about a month after returning she went to her local dentist. It turned out root canal treatment was needed – an additional procedure and additional costs at home.

That moment planted the first serious doubts in me. I started subconsciously worrying. But – paid for, date set, so I fly.

Airport: alone at the end

I landed around 9pm, early October. I came out to the same spot where a driver had waited last time. I stood and watched as drivers from various dental clinics and plastic surgery practices collected their patients – hugs, clinic name boards, suitcases, noise.

Slowly the airport emptied. Only taxis remained. Everyone collected, just me standing there waiting.

I turned on roaming and messaged my coordinator. It was almost 11pm so the message wasn't read. One of the taxi drivers came over and asked if he could help. I said the clinic had most likely forgotten about me.

He asked for the number and offered to call from a Turkish phone. It turned out a Turkish number is "more important" – they answered immediately. Shortly after I got a text: "someone will come for you soon". I waited another hour or so.

Eventually a car pulled up – a real wreck. I wondered if it would fall apart on the way, but I was so exhausted that I mainly just felt grateful to be heading to the hotel at all.

Hotel déjà vu

Before the trip I'd agreed with the coordinator that I'd pay extra for a better hotel – anything not to go back to the one from the first visit. She agreed and assured me everything was sorted.

When the car stopped right in front of the exact same hotel as last time, my blood pressure shot up. Exhaustion won – I just wanted to sleep.

In response to my message I was told it was "just for one night" and the next day a driver would take me to the hotel we'd agreed on. It was added that the "right" hotel had no rooms.

I didn't buy that story, but as I'm someone who lets things go quickly, I didn't want to drag the topic out. Until later.

"What accident?" – when the lie unravels

On the way to the clinic I chatted with the driver. It turned out it was the same one who'd driven me during my first visit – a calm, friendly man. Out of concern I asked if his colleague was okay and said I was sorry about the accident.

His face – priceless. Total bewilderment. "What accident?" he asked. He'd heard nothing.

He asked me to give him a moment and called his boss. He put it on speaker, so I heard everything.

The driver apologised for the misunderstanding and said clearly: their side hadn't failed. The clinic simply hadn't sent the information. Don't ask what I felt then. A mix of anger, disappointment and that classic "seriously? you thought flowers would cover this?"

Flowers that fix nothing

The first thing I did on entering the clinic was speak to the manager. "Good morning, how was the flight, how did you sleep, can't you wait for your new smile?" – the classic courtesy package.

I didn't answer any of those questions. I asked my own: "How can you lie like that? There was no accident."

At that moment my coordinator walked in with flowers, trying to hand them to me. I thanked her but added calmly:

I said it calmly but very firmly. I added: "One day these lies of yours will destroy your reputation. I don't trust you and I won't trust you again."

And that was the moment something shifted in me. From a patient who just wanted to "get her teeth done", I became someone who looks at this whole system much more coldly, asks difficult questions and won't be fobbed off with a flower, a smile and "everything is fine".

Finally: the chair, injections and grinding

Eventually I sat in the chair. A moment of dread – I don't like injections, but I couldn't imagine the grinding without anaesthetic. When the anaesthetic kicked in, the overgrown implants were cut open and the screws inserted. Only then did the dentist move to the grinding.

The whole procedure took quite a long time. More doses of anaesthetic were added, and stress sweat was literally running down the chair. She finished – "it wasn't so bad" – but that day and night it was impossible to get by without painkillers.

Even though only "a few millimetres" had been ground down, my speech resembled more of a hiss. I felt like someone with a foreign object in their mouth trying to form normal words out of it.

Waiting for crowns and "holidays" that aren't holidays

Now I had to wait for the next appointment. An impression had been taken earlier, so this was waiting for them to produce the crowns. Compared to the first hotel, the upgraded one had better breakfasts – or at least more choice for people after such procedures.

The driver was organising mini trips for patients with his daughter, so I went along with a lovely couple from Silesia. It was genuinely nice – good people, conversations, a bit of normality between doses of stress. These were probably the only money I spent on this trip that I actually enjoyed spending.

Crowns "ready" and a rush to finish

Finally I got a message that the crowns were ready and I should come in to have them fitted. My appointment was at noon and I left the chair after 9pm. After a fitting I was told to go for a walk, get something to eat and come back later.

I did. But I was taken at the very end of the day. The dentist was already very tired and so was I – I could feel how much she was rushing to "close the topic".

Full reception – "wow" or a red flag?

At first glance a full waiting room looks impressive – "wow, the clinic is popular, so it must be good". On the other hand it often means factory mode, where everything is done on a conveyor belt, and with such invasive procedures rushing is the worst advisor.

Poorly fitted crowns can cause quite a lot of damage: pain, chewing problems, inflammation around the gums and additional costs for corrections – often already after you've returned home.

The problem with corrections after returning home

On top of that comes something rarely talked about: many dentists at home don't want to take on corrections after treatment done abroad. Some propose "starting everything from scratch", others simply send the patient back to the clinic where the procedure was done.

That's why it's so important to check not just the clinic, but the specific dentist – their experience, working style, approach to complications – not just the price and "before/after" photos.

Instagram vs. reality

We believe that because we see beautiful transformations on Instagram, the dentists must be specialists in their field. The problem is that those photos show only the immediate result, and almost nothing about how those teeth function after months or years, or what happens when something goes wrong.

What I want to tell you at the end

My story doesn't have to be your story – everyone has their own decisions to make and their own path. What I'm describing isn't meant to scare anyone, just to give you as many concrete details as possible before you buy a ticket and sit in a chair in a foreign country.

If you have a verified, recommended dentist (in Turkey or anywhere else), it's worth using them – because mistakes and lack of competence happen in every country, not just there.