Enhancing Ukrainian lives through dentistry
by Katherine Read
Contributing Writer
Published: Thursday, July 9, 2009 11:08 AM CDT*
SHOREVIEW — They make do with rudimentary equipment: a chair, a light, an air compressor, some sterile tools, bottled water because running water is scarce. Sometimes they can do little more than pull teeth already too decayed to save. But despite limited resources, retired dentist George Posavad and his wife, Verene, can look back over the past 16 years and see that they've made real improvements in the smiles of Ukrainian children and in their lives
George, 70, and Verene, 69, a travel agent, go to the Ukraine at least once a year to volunteer their services in several of the country's estimated 450 orphanages, an ongoing project that earned George the Minnesota Dental Association's Humanitarian Service Award several years ago.
The couple discussed their experiences in their Shoreview home, where decorations include a collection of Ukrainian stacking dolls and a bowl of intricately patterned Ukrainian eggs. They flipped through a photo album and pointed to one success story among many: A photo of a boy with chipped, brown, decayed front teeth and an “after” picture of the boy displaying a bright, freshly repaired grin.
“Now he doesn't have to smile behind his hand,” George said.
The Posavads first traveled to Ukraine in 1993, just a couple of years after the country's independence from the Soviet Union. Invited by a friend and member of their church, they joined a group from Shepherd's Foundation, a nondenominational Christian organization that provides health care and other humanitarian services in Ukraine.
Arriving in the struggling country, they discovered that, for all but the wealthy, typical dental care is a far cry from high tech. Equipment is sparse and antiquated. Dental visits are infrequent, short, and offer no instruction on oral hygiene. Care is often limited to tooth extractions, often without Novocaine on aching or abscessed teeth. Flossing is all but nonexistent, calcium buildup so severe that patients asked Posavad about the “stones” on their teeth.
Cavities get a superficial drilling, fillings don't last long, and “a year or two later, you're extracting the tooth,” George said.
Initially, most of George's patients were adults, but after a couple of years the Posavads decided that some of the country's estimated 100,000 children in orphanages might need their help more. They did some research and eventually selected three orphanages, each with about 150 children, on which to focus their efforts.
These orphanages lie far outside the areas that most tourists see. The capital city of Kyiv (formerly Kiev) features modern buildings, expensive shops and “more BMW SUVs than you'd see here,” George said. But outside the city, in the rural areas, it's not uncommon to share roads with horses and wagons.
One particular orphanage, in the village of Babanka, was extremely poor. When the Posavads first visited in the late '90s, running water was nonexistent, the children dirty, the buildings and grounds unkempt. Once, the Minnesotans arrived to find the children waiting in their underwear — it was laundry day, and the kids only had one set of clothes. When patients sat down in the dentist's chair, Verene noticed that some wore shoes with the soles worn through.
At first, the kids' teeth were in poor shape. But as the Posavads came back year after year, setting up their dental clinic in the gymnasium, handing out toothbrushes and toothpaste and instructions on how to use them, their teeth improved. When the Posavads visited in April, only about one in six kids needed work.
“They all look better,” George said. “Our mission is to go back and be consistent so they know we're coming.”
The attention has led to other improvements at Babanka. Over the past couple of years, with help from the American volunteers as well as from an international nonprofit called the Heifer Foundation, the orphanage has gained hot showers, farm animals, a bakery and a rebuilt greenhouse. The grounds are immaculate. Last year, every child got a new pair of shoes.
Volunteers accompanying the Posavads include a physical therapist, teachers, sports professionals and a clown who entertains the children while they wait to be examined. At the end of their trip, the Posavads distribute gift bags containing pens, notebooks, socks, combs and other small items in addition to the toothbrushes.
“It's like their Christmas,” Verene said.
The kids graduate from the orphanages at 16, many ill-prepared to support themselves. Sometimes the boys turn to crime, the girls to prostitution. But the Posavads figure that by fixing the kids' teeth, they're enhancing the young people's chances of success.
“Certainly if they have an appearance that makes them feel good about themselves, it helps,” Verene said, recalling one girl whose broken teeth George replaced with a fixed bridge. She became a teacher.
“Dentistry has opened the doors for a lot of things — a lot of relationships, a lot of equipment, and probably some improvement in the lives of these kids,” George said.
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