I’ve been a dentist long enough to know one thing: cheap fixes always cost more in the end.
Greg Walters didn’t believe that.
He thought he was too smart to take my advice, that he could outsmart basic dental care the same way he cut corners in business.
So when I told him his cracked molar needed a proper crown, he shopped around, found a cheaper clinic, and even came back just to brag about it.
For a while, it seemed like he’d won.
The Penny-Pincher’s Dilemma
Greg Walters strolled into my office like he had somewhere more important to be.
“Doc, let’s make this quick,” he said, adjusting his watch as he settled into the chair. “I’ve got a meeting in forty-five minutes.”
Greg was one of those patients. Always in a hurry, always treating his appointments like an inconvenience instead of a necessity.
But he was also a longtime patient, so I’d gotten used to his attitude.
I pulled up his X-rays and took a look.
“Not great news,” I said. “You’ve got a crack in your lower right molar. You’ll need a crown.”
Greg frowned. “A crown? Like, the full thing?”
I nodded. “Yeah. The crack is deep enough that if we don’t reinforce it, you risk fracturing the entire tooth. A high-quality crown will seal it off, protect the structure, and—”
“Okay, okay,” Greg cut in, waving a hand. “How much?”
“$1,800.”
Greg let out a sharp laugh. “Come on, Doc. It’s just one tooth. That’s outrageous.”
I leaned back in my chair. “It’s not just about the tooth. It’s about making sure you don’t lose it completely. If we let this go, you’re looking at a root canal or extraction down the line.”
Greg made a face like he wasn’t buying it. “There’s gotta be a cheaper option.”
I sighed. “You can probably find a budget clinic that’ll do it for less. But they’ll cut costs somewhere. Cheap materials, rushed bonding, maybe even skipping some of the prep work. If the crown isn’t done right, it won’t last.”
Greg smirked like he’d just caught me in a sales pitch. “Yeah, well, I think I’ll shop around. No offense, Doc, but I don’t throw away money.”
I didn’t argue. I just nodded and made a note in his file.
“Your call,” I said. “But remember, cheap fixes cost more in the long run.”
A Bargain at What Cost?
A few weeks later, Greg was back.
Not for the crown. No, of course not.
He was here for a routine cleaning.
He kicked back in the chair like he owned the place, arms folded behind his head.
“Guess what, Doc?” he said, flashing a grin. “Got my crown done last week.”
I glanced at his chart, confused. “Oh? I don’t see a record of that—”
“Not here,” he said smugly. “Found a place across town. Only cost me six hundred bucks. Looks just as good, too.”
Ah. There it was.
I glanced at my hygienist, who was pretending not to listen but was definitely listening.
Greg kept going like he was giving me business advice.
“You guys should really reconsider your pricing,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, I get it, premium service and all that, but half the cost, same result? That’s just smart shopping.”
I could tell he expected me to argue with him. Maybe he wanted me to defend my prices, to insist that my work was better.
I didn’t.
I just nodded. “Well, I hope it lasts.”
Greg chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, Doc. A crown’s a crown. It’s not rocket science.”
I didn’t argue.
Because I already knew how this story ended.
And when it did?
I’d be the one holding the forceps.
A Costly Dinner Mishap
A few months passed, and I didn’t see Greg again. I figured he was still riding the high of his “great deal.”
Then, one evening, I attended a networking event at an upscale restaurant. One of those places where the steaks are overpriced and everyone pretends they aren’t checking their phones every five minutes.
That’s when I spotted Greg.
He was sitting at a table across the room, loudly holding court with a few clients.
He was the type who didn’t just talk. He performed, all exaggerated laughs and smug smiles, making sure everyone knew how successful and clever he was.
I wasn’t close enough to hear the full conversation, but I caught enough.
He was bragging about a deal he closed, probably the same way he had bragged about his discount dental work.
Then, right in the middle of his performance, it happened.
Greg took a big, confident bite of steak…and froze.
His expression shifted in an instant.
At first, just confusion. Then, panic. He clamped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide, jaw clenched.
I saw his cheeks twitch in pain.
One of his clients leaned in. “Greg? You good?”
Greg shook his head quickly, still holding his mouth, his posture now stiff and awkward. Then, he grabbed his napkin, turned slightly, and spat something into it.
From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see what it was.
But I already knew.
The cheap crown had failed. Either it cracked, came loose, or completely popped off.
And judging by the look on Greg’s face, it wasn’t just a minor inconvenience.
It was bad.
I watched as the realization sank in. The discomfort, the humiliation, the dawning horror of what he had just lost.
His clients were still watching, waiting. Greg forced a smile, nodded stiffly, and reached for his water.
But his usual arrogance? Gone.
For the first time, Greg had nothing to say.
I didn’t go over to him. Didn’t need to.
Triple the Price, Triple the Pain
The next morning, Greg was in my office.
He walked in hunched, holding his jaw, eyes red. Probably from a night of throbbing pain.
The smugness? Completely gone.
“Dr. Carter,” he muttered, barely able to move his mouth. “I… I need help.”
I nodded, motioning for him to sit. “Let’s take a look.”
The moment he opened his mouth, I could see the damage.
His cheap crown hadn’t just fallen out; it had exposed a full-blown infection. The underlying tooth was decayed, swollen, and beyond saving.
“How long has this been bothering you?” I asked.
Greg swallowed hard. “I mean… it felt a little sensitive a couple weeks ago. But last night…” He winced. “It just… went.”
I leaned back. “Well, Greg, I won’t sugarcoat it. You need an extraction. Possibly a bone graft if we’re thinking about an implant.”
Greg paled. “Can’t you just… put another crown on it?”
I shook my head. “No structure left to attach it to. The tooth is too compromised.”
I could see the gears turning in his head, the slow realization that his “smart decision” had backfired spectacularly.
Then came the final blow.
“The implant and post-op care will run you about… let’s see… close to $3,500.”
Greg stiffened. His face twitched like he wanted to argue. Bargain. Complain.
But he couldn’t.
Because he had done this to himself.
I turned back to my notes.
“Funny thing,” I said casually. “If you’d gone with the proper crown in the first place, you’d have paid, what… a third of that?”
Greg exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”
There was no fight left in him.
“Let’s get this taken care of,” I said, standing up. “The sooner we start, the better.”
Greg nodded stiffly.
A man who once bragged about getting a discount was now paying three times the price.
And as I prepped the instruments, I couldn’t help but think:
Some lessons come cheap…others, not so much.