thousands of people may have sat in that chair, and there was no way to reach them
In Sydney's inner-west, a quiet suburban dental practice has become the center of a public health reckoning: thousands of patients who trusted a dentist with their care over more than two decades are now being asked to reckon with the possibility that basic protections were never reliably in place. NSW Health's public alert — issued because patient records no longer exist to reach those affected directly — reflects a deeper truth about the invisible systems of trust that underpin medical care, and what happens when they quietly fail. The risk to any individual may be low, but the scale of uncertainty is vast, and the nature of blood-borne viruses means that harm, if it occurred, may have been silently accumulating for years.
- Thousands of former patients of a now-retired and deregistered Sydney dentist face the unsettling possibility that contaminated equipment may have exposed them to HIV, hepatitis B, or hepatitis C.
- Because patient records were inadequate or inaccessible, health authorities had no way to reach those affected directly — forcing a rare and striking public broadcast appeal.
- The viruses at the center of this alert can lie dormant for decades with no symptoms, meaning infected individuals may unknowingly carry and transmit serious illness without ever suspecting it.
- NSW Health is urging all former patients of Dr William Tam to contact their GP immediately for precautionary testing, stressing that early detection makes effective treatment possible for all three viruses.
- The incident has exposed a systemic failure in the invisible infrastructure of dental safety — the sterilization protocols and record-keeping that patients assume, without ever verifying, are simply in place.
On Wednesday, NSW Health issued a public alert asking thousands of people who had visited a Strathfield dental practice over the past quarter-century to get tested for HIV and hepatitis. The dentist, Dr William Tam, had retired and was no longer registered — but the consequences of what an audit found at his Albert Road clinic were still unfolding.
The Dental Council of NSW identified serious gaps in infection control at the premises, along with problems in how patient records were maintained. Blood-borne viruses — hepatitis B, hepatitis C, and HIV — can spread through contaminated instruments, infected blood or saliva, or the small skin breaches that are routine in dental work. The risk from any single exposure is low, but multiplied across thousands of patients over decades, the uncertainty becomes significant.
The inadequacy of the records made the situation harder to contain. With no reliable way to identify or contact former patients directly, Dr Leena Gupta, clinical director of public health for the Sydney Local Health District, acknowledged the uncomfortable reality: the health system simply did not know who had sat in that chair. Her statement was careful but clear — the poor infection control practices meant all former patients carried a low but real risk of blood-borne virus infection, with potentially serious long-term consequences.
What lent the alert its particular urgency was the nature of these viruses. HIV, hepatitis B, and hepatitis C can remain entirely asymptomatic for years or even decades, allowing infected individuals to unknowingly carry and transmit illness. All three now have effective treatments — but only for those who know they are infected. Testing, Gupta stressed, was not about panic but about early intervention before a manageable condition becomes a crisis.
Former patients were directed to their GPs or to Healthdirect for testing guidance. The alert stood as a rare and sobering moment: a health system reaching out into the public not because it knew who was at risk, but precisely because it did not — asking anyone who had ever trusted that dental chair to now act on that uncertainty.
On Wednesday, NSW Health issued an alert that rippled across Sydney's medical landscape: thousands of people who had visited a dentist's chair over the past quarter-century were being asked to get tested for HIV and hepatitis. The dentist, Dr William Tam, had retired and was no longer registered. But the damage—or the potential for it—remained.
Tam's practice sat on Albert Road in Strathfield, in Sydney's inner-west, a quiet suburban corner where people came for routine cleanings and fillings, trusting that basic safety protocols were in place. They were not, or at least not reliably. A recent audit by the Dental Council of NSW found serious gaps in infection control practices at the premises. The council also flagged problems with how patient records were kept. Blood-borne viruses—hepatitis B, hepatitis C, and HIV—can spread through contaminated needles, through splashes of infected blood or saliva, through the small breaches in skin that happen in a dentist's mouth. The risk of transmission from a single exposure is low. But when you multiply that low risk across thousands of patients over decades, the calculus changes.
The scale of the exposure became immediately apparent: no one could say exactly how many people had been Tam's patients. The records were inadequate or inaccessible. Dr Leena Gupta, the clinical director of public health for the Sydney Local Health District, put it plainly: thousands of people may have sat in that chair, and there was no way to reach them directly. So NSW Health did what it could—it went public, asking anyone who had ever been treated by Tam to contact their GP and request testing for all three viruses.
Gupta's statement carried the weight of a difficult truth. "The poor infection control practices at Dr Tam's practice means all former patients may be at low risk of a blood-borne virus infection, which can have serious and long-lasting health impacts," she said. The precautionary language—"may be," "low risk"—was precise but also unsettling. It acknowledged that the danger was real enough to warrant urgent action, even if the probability of actual harm remained uncertain.
What made the situation more urgent was the nature of these viruses themselves. A person infected with HIV, hepatitis B, or hepatitis C might feel nothing for years, even decades. They could carry the virus unknowingly, passing it on to others, or simply living with a treatable condition that they didn't know they had. Early detection changes everything. All three viruses now have effective treatments. But you have to know you're infected to access them. That's why Gupta emphasized the importance of testing: not to panic, but to catch what might be there before it becomes a crisis.
Former patients of Tam were directed to their GPs or to Healthdirect, the national health information service, for guidance on testing. The alert was extraordinary in its scope and its public nature—a health system essentially saying: we don't know who you are, but if you went to this dentist, please act now. It was a moment when the routine infrastructure of dental care—the sterilization protocols, the record-keeping, the basic hygiene that patients never think about because they assume it's automatic—had failed, and thousands of people were now living with the knowledge that they might need to be tested for serious infections because of lapses in that invisible system.
Citas Notables
The poor infection control practices at Dr Tam's practice means all former patients may be at low risk of a blood-borne virus infection, which can have serious and long-lasting health impacts.— Dr Leena Gupta, clinical director of public health for Sydney Local Health District
People with HIV, hepatitis B, or hepatitis C may not have any symptoms for decades. It is important that people at risk of these infections are tested, so that they can access treatment as appropriate.— Dr Leena Gupta
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why would a dentist's infection control failures go undetected for so long?
Because audits happen after the fact, often triggered by a complaint or a routine review. Tam had been practicing for over 25 years. No one was watching closely until someone looked.
And now there's no way to contact the patients?
The records were poor—that was part of the audit finding. So yes, NSW Health can't reach people directly. That's why they went public.
Is the risk actually high, or is this precaution theater?
The risk from any single exposure is low. But multiply that across thousands of patients over decades, and you're talking about a real possibility that some people were exposed. The viruses are serious. Testing is cheap and effective treatment exists. So precaution makes sense.
What happens to someone who tests positive after all this time?
They get access to treatment. That's the point. HIV, hepatitis B and C are manageable now if caught. But you have to know you have them. Someone could have been infected 20 years ago and never known.
Does Tam face consequences?
He's already retired and no longer registered. The audit found the problems. But the real consequence falls on the patients—they have to get tested, they have to live with the uncertainty until they do.