In 1992, I was a CNN reporter in Seoul, South Korea, newly arrived on our first overseas posting with my foreign service officer husband. We’d been together five years and were talking about having a baby—which meant I’d been quietly hoping to get pregnant on that particular tour of duty.

The plan, if things went according to plan: fly to Bangkok and deliver at Bumrungrad International Hospital, which the embassy wives had been talking up with the zeal of recent converts. This private hospital has a global reputation for excellent medical care, and for labor and delivery you get a private room with a kitchenette, a microwave, and the kind of personal attention that U.S. hospitals reserve for people with very good insurance and even better luck. I didn’t get that experience. (I also didn’t have children with husband #1. Long story.)

NextTribe creates small group travel experiences for women 45 and over (though not for medical tourism). If you’re ready to stop waiting and start going, we’d love to have you along. Check out all our trips here.

Years later, my former brother-in-law needed oral surgery that would have cost him $18,000 in the U.S. He flew to Bangkok instead, stayed a month for follow-up appointments with the oral surgeon, and came home having spent less than half that—airfare and a month in Thailand included.

The Doctor Is…Out

Medical tourism is serious business in Thailand, Turkey (rhinoplasty capital of the world), Brazil (butt lift anyone?), and South Korea, where demand for eyelid surgery is so high that local surgeons could do it in their sleep—though let’s hope they don’t. My mother had hers done when she lived in Korea for a year. Results: excellent. Cost: less than half the U.S. price.

Many countries are also more open to treatments still awaiting FDA approval—which is either alarming or liberating, depending on your situation.

The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) recognizes six categories of medical tourism: cosmetic, dental, oncology, rehab, reproductive, and transplant. They issue the expected cautions, but as U.S. healthcare costs climb and our standing in global medical rankings slips, the case against traveling for treatment gets harder to make. Many countries are also more open to treatments still awaiting FDA approval—which is either alarming or liberating, depending on your situation.

Viva México

Mexico offers stem cell therapies, cancer treatments, and other procedures not available in the U.S., Canada, or Europe. According to Mexico’s Office of Medical Tourism, 1.2 million patients from the United States visit Mexican clinics and hospitals every year.

Make that 1.2 million and one. I now have a dentist in Mexico, and I’m heading back for my third visit in October—a few days before our Day of the Dead trip begins.

A crown in San Miguel de Allende will run 12,000 pesos, roughly $700.

I should confess that I hadn’t seen a dentist in roughly five years before this. The older I get, the more I’ve come to believe that doctors are professionally obligated to find something worth treating, and I’d been avoiding giving them the opportunity. I brush carefully, use a water pik, my gums don’t bleed, and I have no pain. Why go looking for trouble? Also, even a cleaning in Austin isn’t cheap.

Then a friend gave me a referral to her dentist in San Miguel de Allende, where I’d been spending time anyway. I booked a cleaning and a full set of x-rays at the end of last year, when we were there for the holidays. In May, I went back for two fillings. When I return in October, I’m getting a crown. My five-year dental sabbatical, it turns out, had some consequences.

The bill for the cleaning and two fillings: 5,000 pesos—about $290. The crown will run 12,000 pesos, roughly $700. Less than half what I’d pay in Austin. My dentist speaks perfect English and though I’m fluent in Spanish, he somehow keeps forgetting to practice his Spanish on me while I’m in the chair.

Meet Oscar

Dr. Oscar Retana’s office sits right in the center of San Miguel. Most of his patients are dental tourists or expats who’ve settled there—he’s clearly found his niche. I heard about him from a woman I know who lives there full-time, and after a couple of visits, my husband has decided he wants an appointment in October too.

Having a dentist in San Miguel is a happy new development: it’s a reason to visit more often.

The equipment is current, the water is all purified, and he runs a one-chair practice with two assistants. He does the cleaning himself, which makes the whole experience feel less like a conveyor belt and more like the kind of care you actually want from someone working in your mouth.

If you grew up near the border—San Diego, El Paso, Brownsville—crossing into Mexico for healthcare probably isn’t news to you. Border residents have done it for generations. For me, though, having a dentist in San Miguel is a happy new development: it’s a reason to visit more often, and I will take any excuse I can get.

Patient Beware

None of this is medical advice. I’m a journalist, not a doctor, and my experience is one data point. There are horror stories in medical tourism, just as there are in healthcare anywhere.

Do your research, get referrals from people you trust, and check the Medical Tourism Index (medicaltourism.com), which ranks providers from Abu Dhabi to Vietnam. Going in informed is half the battle—whether you’re getting a crown in Mexico or a root canal in Memphis.