#Side Effects of Root Canal

[birchmountsshepparddental]

When dentists are looking to treat infected tooth pulp, they will perform a common dental procedure known as root canal therapy. While modern technologies have revolutionized root canals, the procedure is lengthy and painful. 

When it comes to root canal procedures, dentists will say that there are lots of root canal treatment side–effects that will harm your teeth and gums in the long run. While dentists will discuss the possible side effects, you will need to be careful at the end. 

While the blog post will share possible side–effects of root canal therapy, you will be able to able to consider these impacts on your mouth, teeth, and gums. It is necessary to check out some lesser–known side – effects of root canals from this article.

[what-the-fuck-khr]

pain has veeeeeery suspiciously disappeared from the tooth which makes me veeeeeeeery suspicious bc that’s not good lmfao bc if the pain goes without treatment, it means smth in that tooth has fucking died if I can’t feel anything anymore LMAO. okay if I press hard enough it hurts but it’s nowhere near the sharp ass pain it’s been leading up to this point so! I’m gonna go into that appointment expecting dead nerves and an infection or abscess of some kind. I’m also going in expecting the tooth to get ripped out so! what a day that’s gonna be

[cliniceximus01]

Understanding Root Canal: Why It's Important for Your Oral Health

Experiencing severe tooth pain? It might be time to explore your options for a root canal in Delhi. This treatment helps save damaged teeth and prevent further complications. Clinic Eximus offers insights into why taking care of your dental health is vital. Learn more about preserving your natural smile with modern techniques.

[dissociacrip]

i saw that one disability-related post a while ago about dental care but i can't find it again so i'm gonna mention a few things as a (mild to moderately) mentally & physically disabled person, whose teeth hurt when i eat sweet stuff now + i've had a root canal due to a fall + i'm learning to take care of myself, that may or may not help other folks with their dental routine

note: i am not a dentist & this info is mostly what i've gleaned secondhand from dentists, so yeah, i am not an expert in any capacity

water flossers aren't as effective as regular flossing (doing both is actually what's most effective) but they're better than nothing & helpful in cases where coordination problems or other issues might prevent regular flossing technique (i imagine this also depends on the quality of the water flosser)

if you use one of the plastic pre-made floss picks things, rinse the string off in-between each time you use it to floss one side of a tooth, it's tedious but it mimics moving to a new (clean) part of the thread like you do with regular floss

if you get an automatic toothbrush, get one that does circular rotation rather than just vibrating or whatever, as this mimics the tools they use in a dentist's office + imitates the circular motion you're expected to make with a standard toothbrush (which is also hard with coordination issues), i got one that does this pretty cheap from walmart (it's an oral-b but i forgot the specific type) + it automatically times it for you

if you have white spots on your teeth that are uneven with the shade of the rest of the tooth those are potentially white spot lesions due to demineralization; whitening products can make this worse rather than help it, but some products can help with remineralization such as mi paste topical tooth creme, which contains calcium and phosphate (i have yet to try this myself but it seems to get suggested by a lot of dentists, orthodontists, etc. for white spots on teeth & it's also supposed to help with sensitivity and tooth health in general because the white spots are lesions so it's not purely cosmetic!)

it's advised to not rinse your mouth immediately after brushing as this potentially dilutes & reduces the effects of the flouride (if you use fluoride toothpaste), stuff says to wait at least 15 minutes or so

just giving your teeth a quick scrub (even if it's without toothpaste and just water) is better than not brushing your teeth at all

if you have trouble seeing a dentist for financial reasons, try to see if there are income-based or charity dental services in your area, sometimes dental schools also provide low-cost/free dental care

that's all i can think of for now, i wish i had more advice for people who struggle to be able to brush their teeth at all in general but this is all i got unfortunately :(

additionally - you're not bad, useless, gross, or a failure if you struggle to (or can't) maintain oral hygiene; this stuff is much easier for some people than it is to others & those who take it for granted like to forget that, no one deserves to be mocked or looked down on for being disabled & struggling to/not being able to do """basic""" stuff like this!

[pparacxosm]

uta hagen

(divorced!art donaldson x reader; tw divorce obviously; tw sporadic mentions of violent or otherwise shitty partners; that sounds intense but this is actually a fun time i swear; cw a little smut; as a treat; tw ironic intimacy; kaz write a normal romance where one or both people aren't hypercritical of the other challenge ((impossible)); tw group therapy; tw condensing of tashi duncan's character for narrative reasons but i hope you know me well enough by now to know where my heart lies; whoever came up with the art donaldson calvin klein campaign headcanon i owe you a kidney; tw exploiting therapeutic exercises for sexual tension lol; tw hamfisted closure; raymond carver easter egg for all who have the eyes to see)

Before anything happens, Art Donaldson is just another guy in the “Learning to Let the Ex Go” group therapy session you signed up for.

It occurs to you, pretty quickly, that Art Donaldson has zero intention of letting his ex go. Dr Harper has this question he asks all the newcomers.

You’re having circle time with a bunch of adults on a Friday afternoon. So that look of longsuffering on the new guy's face isn’t particularly remarkable. You note a few furtive whispers and glances his way. But then this sad little workshop is mostly comprised of weepy middleaged women. They, too, kicked up a ruckus when that silver fox with the Harley—Rick—deigned to grace the room with his impossible biceps for a single, cigarettescented session two weeks ago.

What you’re saying is you know he’s handsome.

And, anyway, you’d never hold anything against your motley crew. Agnes invited you to her neighbourhood book club. Padma brings little clingwrapped trays of desserts every other week. These are your gal pals. Your bereaved bosom buddies. You wouldn’t begrudge them their eye candy.

Dr Harper says, “So,” and claps his hands the way he starts every session, narrowing his eyes with that scarily sentimental smile and sweeping his gaze around the circle. He makes a point to make eye contact with every single person for two whole seconds, as though he knows something you don’t. Then, “As you can see, we are not as few as we once were.”

He tends to speak in that meandering sort of way. He makes a flourishing gesture with his clipboard, as if setting a stage, and says,

“If you wouldn’t mind introducing yourself, and letting us know…” He pauses for effect. He tends to do that, too. “… Why can’t you let your ex go?”

You do the guy the favour of not laving him in that expectant stare people seem to love doing here. You fiddle with your fingers and listen to the uneasy knell of his sneakers against the linoleum. The stilted whine of his little plastic foldout chair. You cast him a glance as stands. He’s sort of tall, but not imposing. His fingers fidget at his sides like he’s awaiting a time bomb.

When he speaks, he looks so upset you’d think he’s getting a root canal. “Uh, hi. I’m Art, uh… just Art.”

And, at the time, you think this is kind of strange.

The next week, when Dr Harper brings a purple tennis racket with Just Art’s face on the front to get him to sign it for his daughter—which you already think is unprofessional and a bit presumptuous, considering how few people actually return for a second session, and how fascinatingly tortured he looked all throughout the first—you will think oh. And then his whole humble kicked puppy thing will feel a little annoying. But that’s besides the point.

On that first day, while he’s standing there awkwardly, and every shriek of his shoes against the ground is making him wince like he’s sporting stab wounds, and he keeps casting very conspicuous glances at the clock, Dr Harper asks why can’t you let your ex go?

And the thing about that question is it’s mostly rhetorical. Sure, it’s supposed to make you think. But the ultimate unearthing there is of the truth that there is no real reason. And such is the first step to selfactualising change and so on and so forth. You get it.

There’s a couple answers you come to expect. The notably lachrymose will get to weeping straight away. Because I’m pathetic! you remember someone wailing, which made you feel like a bit of a sadist, just sitting there and watching. You’re pretty sure you’d said a less than kind, I don’t fucking know, on your first day, but you’ve grown since then, and you appreciate Dr Harper’s abiding effusiveness despite that.

But Just Art releases a contrite sort of exhale and says, “Because I still love her.”

Which—okay—strikes you as a bit overkill.

A tissue discreetly finds his palm, but he only rumples it into a ball.

Dr Harper nods sagely, leaning back in his seat, steepling his fingers under his chin.

“Go on,” he prompts in that gentle, needling way he does.

You don’t Google him. You don’t really need to. Dr Harper keeps intentionally-unintentionally peppering sporadic little pearls of information about him into conversation like some sort of bizarre BINGO game.

Like—for example—when he’s passing out little notepads and outlining your task of writing unflinchingly honest farewell letters to your exes, he tacks on, “—it’ll be tough, but it’s no Wimbledon, am I right, Donaldson?”

And Just Art’s ears will turn a dazzling shade of crimson.

You file these little tidings away in some less important corner of your mind, passively constructing a criminal profile.

Padma brings her son to a session, which you’re pretty sure she’s not allowed to do. Luckily, the kid doesn’t internalise any of Padma’s scathing anecdotes about his father because he’s too busy marvelling at his own freshly signed Art Donaldson racket.

There seems to be a new racket to sign every week.

You doubt people actually give this much of a shit about tennis. But—anyway—you suppose if fucking Michael Cera rocked up and joined the circle, everyone would be hauling a Superbad poster out from some dusty corner, too. Such is the nature of celebrity.

Dr Harper, for one, appreciates the effervescence. He seems to think the mere presence of a famous athlete will motivate everyone in the room to face with renewed fervour their own pathetic little romantic quagmires.

Well, it’s that, or a strange personal infatuation he houses with the guy. Probably both.

You don’t Google him. You don’t Google him, nor his conceivably equally famous exwife. You don’t need to. Dr Harper seems to think it necessary to give you all regular progress reports on that whole imbroglio.

You know there’s news—perhaps unfortunate news—by the colour of Dr Harper’s voice when he says, haltingly, “And Art… how have you been doing?”

By the severity with which Dr Harper nods as Art reads his letter. (“Tashi,” he begins, and one of those not so furtive whispers ricochets around the room, another tissue in his hand; you think it’s Agnes who’s slipping them).

By the abject enthusiasm with which Dr Harper declares what real progress Art is making. Like he’s one of those zoo animals being parallelreared with a human child, and he’s starting to glean the art of speech without being prompted.

This is all saying something, for whom you know to be an already colourful, severe, enthusiastic Dr Harper.

What you gather is a vague impression that Art’s exwife tortured him psychologically by wielding his body and tennis career as serrated edges by which to flay their marriage intricately, slowly. And then there’s something about her repeatedly sleeping with his exbestfriend? Which—big whoop. Eleanor’s boyfriend tried to kill her, which you feel is a marginally more exceptional love story.

A month in, you realise what’s really bothering you is the untruth.

Art Donaldson has zero intention of letting his ex go. He still loves her. He opened with that.

He reads his letter (that reads a lot more like a draft for vow renewals) aloud to the room. Everyone looks at him with these misty eyes like he’s just chainsawed his chest open and wrested his heart from his arteries while simultaneously reciting Sappho.

Which is to say—and you’re no doctor, but—what fucking progress?

You don’t think you’re the patron saint of therapy or anything. But you’ve paid decent money to be here, and you’ve spent more afternoons than you’d stomach admitting on guided meditation. You’re doing The Work, as they say.

You get it; you do. Losing a relationship can feel like a death. Losing yours certainly felt like the Sun had imploded. But Eleanor—you’ll mention again—could be dead. Your jaded inner voice struggles to identify with this probably deplorably wealthy Adonis who can't seem to cut the racket strings.

So you think it’s a little irresponsible to glorify the abject pining of this crestfallen man. All flaxenhaired and broadshouldered like Prince Charming lamenting bedside of Sleeping Beauty.

This is a class about severance.

Art Donaldson seems to weave himself inextricably around something. The love of his wife, sure, that’s obvious enough. But there’s something. Something. Something very sad, sure, but not sad in the way you’re all so sad around here. A different kind of sad.

You’re trying to figure it out.

So you spend some time doing that. Trying to figure him out. You expect to start to hate him the more you stare. The more you note the weird slope of his nose, his selfdeprecating laughter.

But you don’t.

In fact, you find it delightfully, uncomfortably strange. He carries himself like an interloper to despair. Not like he thinks he’s above it necessarily—you’d thought that (reproachfully) for a while—rather like sadness is one of many things stored at the other side of the city, and he keeps missing the train.

Like these brilliant sorrowers are deigning to include him in their orbit, even though he doesn’t belong. If he remains silent, maybe they won’t notice that he’s not one of them. Better yet, conceivably, he’ll actually belong one day.

That’s what it’s like. Like he’s striving for sorrow. Like he’s working with something worse than sorrow and is saying, you know what? I’d rather take the sorrow.

In the exercise you’re doing this week, you’re supposed to personage your ex and act out your final argument. Take your scene partner’s hands and look into their eyes and everything. Dr Harper makes a big deal about how he's not trying to trigger anyone's relationship trauma, but that feels like a lie. You can’t imagine a productive reason to make a bunch of lonely, divorced adults hold hands in a cruel parody of their last brush with fleshdeep connection.

And anyway, fuck this shit.

That doesn’t mean you won’t communicate circles around it. You’re doing The Work, after all.

But fuck it hard.

His hands sort of swallow yours. They are warm and calloused and a little sweaty.

You were, at first, excited by the idea of this proximity. Excited in the way a cultural anthropologist would be, at the prospect of conducting participant research. But now you’re here. Sitting at the edges of your little plastic foldout chairs. Your knees between his. And his fingers are curled pretty firmly around yours. He looks about as comfortable as a grade schooler called to the chalkboard. And you’re the one who’s been sitting around observing him from a distance and gleaning your data and passing your judgement all this time, but it is he who makes—and holds—eyecontact.

His eyes are dusky and intent—molten navy—like he’s seeing past your skin and bone. And you are less than pleased by this subversion.

So when he shifts and his knee brushes your outer thigh, a potent shock of heat resounding through the denim, and he clears his throat and mumbles, “Sorry,” you say,

“You could back up a bit.”

His expression falters. You must admit, there is something alluring in his being disappointed by your little rejection. Anyone looking at it from the outside would find the whole thing pretty ludicrous. That you could say no, that he would even ask.

Dr Harper comes up and puts his hands atop both your heads, which feels more than a little patronising. He squats to be eye level between the two of you and whispers, “Do you know why I paired you two together?”

For a moment, you almost roll your eyes. When all is said and done, and the skull speaks and the bell tolls, your primary takeaway from your time Learning to Let the Ex Go is that Dr Harper has a spectacular penchant for assigning meaning where there is absolutely none.

If he paired you with Art based on eyelash hue, would he come up with some reason for that? Probably, you think.

But what he says next manages to throw you.

“You two…” he begins, pausing for effect. Because, of course. And Art shifts his weight uncomfortably, quite literally wincing as he accidentally bumps your knee again. He glances fleetingly in your direction, ears gone florid, but you have little time to delight in this before Dr Harper stands up straight again and delivers his verdict, “… have the same problem.”

You make a face like you have just seen a lizard eat a bird.

And fucking Art, of all people, has this look in his eyes, this look that’s almost hopeful. Like some explanation is finally to be offered for what the hell is wrong with you.

And you don’t care for that shit. At all.

You bark out a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

Which is, of course, when Dr Harper’s gaze sharpens like a scalpel and locks on you, like you’ve said exactly what he predicted you would say.

Which you care for even less.

He doesn’t look smug. Not exactly. He doesn’t even look vindicated. The only way to describe that look on his face is total delight. Cat with the canary in his maw.

Art seems very committed to staring at the ground, now. Trying, perhaps, to evade something of a brewing storm. You’re tempted to reach up and flick his head for his cowardice, but his hands are—very tightly, now, you’ll note—still holding yours.

“You two are both at mercy to judgement,” Dr Harper declares, and he’s still got your head in his palm like a basketball, and all that selfregulatory yoga feels fucking useless right about now.

You shift to look up at him better. “I’m not at mercy to judgement,” you inform him as calmly as you are able, and maybe you’re disproving his point in this moment by being so affected by this analysis, but you sincerely believe that you’re generally pretty hardwearing.

Dr Harper pauses for effect. “You are at mercy to your own judgement...” Another pause. And you’re about to tell him that—nice fucking try, but—you’re actually a remarkably selfassured person who rarely, if ever, gives yourself to negative selftalk. But then, “... Of others.”

And now it occurs to you that the fucking room has gone silent. And you feel like your eyes have all but crossed in simmering anger. Because—okay—everyone here is crazy, and miserable, and a little fucking pathetic, but you’ve prided yourself on being the least crazy one here.

And fuck.

Fuck if you’re not proving his point right now.

When you open your mouth to argue—because you are going to disagree, if only for the sake of disagreeing—Art Donaldson’s fingers screw up firmer around yours, like he’s some sort of sentient lie detector, and you’re about to ask him where the fuck he gets off, but Dr Harper isn’t done.

He turns, now, to Art.

“And you…” he says. You’re getting seasick with all the pausing. “Donaldson. You’re at mercy to others’ judgements of you, my man.”

So Art, you see out of the corner of your eye, looks like he’d rather debone himself than be sitting here.

And fine.

Okay.

Let’s all agree that that much is true. That Art Donaldson lives and dies by the judgement of others, and you live and die in the name of it. Fine.

Even so, you can’t help but think that these are directly antithetical problems to have.

And, in practice, if you’re a callous shrew, and he’s an open wound, you’ll probably kill him. Or something.

But now Dr Harper’s pushing your heads together like a ref before a rugby match. And he crouches down again. And Art’s nose brushes yours, and your lash swipes his cheek, and you can smell the coffee Dr Harper was just drinking.

And he says, “Let. First serve.”

Then he stands again and pats Art’s shoulder like they’re old friends, and gives a wink to the room at large.

He saunters away. Art looks like someone is pointing a gun to his head. But really it’s just your—heartlessly selfrighteous, apparently—forehead still against his. His skin is feverwarm.

You pull away.

Of course no one takes the exercise seriously.

In its defense, you think, there’s very little that goes down in this room that can be veritably labelled a ‘serious’ event. Most of it—the guided meditations, the writing exercises, Dr Harper’s entire vibe—feels like you happened to miss some crazy event that tore reality asunder and tipped you over into a sadistically tragicomedic alternate universe.

But if you all were to sincerely sit here, knees to knees with mourning strangers, and concretise this litany of other strangers who have wounded you all irrevocably in different ways—shit—Harper’d be sitting with a fetid heap of weeping corses.

So—well.

Eleanor’s chasing Ally around the hall with a her fingers hoisting an invisible shiv yelling, I love you, I love you, you bitch. Which is certainly one way to contend with a murderous exlover, you guess.

Padma and Colin are treating this as a gossip session. You can tell because you can hear that delighted peal of laughter she emits whenever someone interjects one of her—deeply engrossing, by the way—caustic vignettes about her exhusband with a little observational jab at the guy.

Most people are laughing. Or making fun. You catch fleeting dregs of remarkably hilarious conversation from all angles and are reminded why you keep coming back here.

The only person, however, who seems to have really taken Dr Harper’s thought experiment to the harp of his heart—much to your horror—is Art Donaldson.

He sets his elbows on his knees and leans forward. You get a waft of him. Something acerbic like citrus, and maybe pine. He blinks up at you with this almost regrettable intensity. Like he’s about to tell you that he has to pull your teeth. But he’s not thrilled about it. You’re still deciding if you’re flattered by the notion. He’s looking at you like he’s trying to glean the pattern of your sinew with his eyes alone.

“I’ll be you,” he says, his voice low and soft. And there’s a hoarse quality to it, like he’s just run up a staircase.

You’re suddenly very aware of all the noise around the two of you. The laughter, the bedlam. Something faintly percussive.

His thumbs swipe over your knuckles, which you’re hoping is an absent thing.

You blink. Your face is overcast with a less than kind, more than unimpressed glower.

“You’re serious?” you deadpan.

He looks serious as the end times. His fingers twitch around yours. You feel his knuckles like piano keys against your palm.

Dr Harper has essentially told this man that you have something he doesn’t. Something he needs. And now—with a tenacity you can only imagine churns through his bones by rote—he seems determined to find it.

He’s gripping your hands like you’re the fucking racket.

He leans down further, elbows pressing into his thighs, and his face gets alarmingly close to your fingers. A whisper of heat against your nailbeds.

When his tongue dips out to swipe the chapped coral edge of his upper lip, you nearly flinch, because you think that wet will touch you. But it doesn’t.

He peers up at you intently. You see the way his throat shifts under his wan skin as he swallows.

“I’m as serious as you want me to be,” he says. He is absurdly sincere, but also something else.

Your brows twitch, and you frown, because you are now realising that, even after several weeks of careful observation, you do not have even a remote understanding of this man to speak of. You feel like an academic whose thesis has just been rejected, and now they’re back to square one of some miserable odyssey. Moreover, this is all just unutterably ridiculous, so you sigh and roll your eyes and shift in your seat, your knee knocking against his inner thigh.

“Fine,” you say, “You be me.”

Art’s face is set in what you first think is determination, but are incredibly unnerved to discover is him getting into character. He’s trying to emulate that vaguely bitter perennial scowl of yours. He looks like a bitch—which means he’s pretty fucking dead on.

You’re almost impressed.

Of course, he still looks sad. There’s a vulnerability his mimicry cannot conceal. But you think he’s finding something cathartic in wearing the hue of your passive vitriol.

You tell him to express a perfectly reasonable grievance to you—and you yourself are now rolling your shoulders and slinking into the ethos of a gaslighting asshole—like how you never wash the dishes. Like, ever.

He clears his throat.

“You never do the dishes.”

You swallow.

“Right…” you murmur.

You’re still a little facetious about this whole thing, but there is that intensity in his gaze that wrests you into the moment like a fervid point of gravity.

“Well, now I—as my ex—would probably tell you—” You roll your eyes again, but now it is at the memory you’re unsheathing. “—oh, you’re being dramatic. I was just about to do them. Why are you always on my ass?”

And Art’s nose wrinkles, like the memory is offensive to him, too.

He looks you over like a sawbones trying to determine a patient’s symptoms. Mapping out the incision.

“Then I—you—would say…” He’s speaking really slowly, too. Like he’s giving you the chance to object where you see fit, on grounds of mischaracterisation. “I would say that you always say you’re going to do all kinds of things. But you never actually do them.”

“Exactly!” you blurt, kneejerk. But then you catch yourself. Flex your fingers a bit in his. Clear your throat and put on your best impression of a total dolt again. “Okay—oh, maybe you’re too busy focusing on the little stuff I don’t do to recognise the large sacrifices I make for our relationship.”

He scoffs.

It’s your scoff. A facsimile of that incredulous ire you seem to always be evincing. It’s deeply disturbing.

“What sacrifices?” You can’t tell who’s asking.

“W—” You falter. Swallow. It takes you a moment—like you’re emerging from deep water—to answer, as your ex, “Well, I moved here, didn’t I? Packed up all my shit and left my friends, my family, fucking everything. To be with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to move.”

“You didn’t,” you confirm quickly. And you can’t tell who’s saying that, either. But you put on the voice again, and say, “You didn’t. But I still did it for you. And I don’t think you’ve ever said thank you. Or sorry.”

A beat.

Your hands go slack in his. You sigh. “You never say sorry.”

Art’s eyes search you like a probe.

Your shoulders are stonerigid and the blood is rushing like torrent through your ears because—somehow—this feels uncomfortably like a fight. Like that fight. And your body seems keen on adjusting the scoreboard accordingly.

His thumbs rub your knuckles again, in a way that feels a lot less idle this time.

“I’m still not going to say sorry,” he guesses with a marginal tentativeness, but a general certainty in his assessment.

You swallow again. “Yeah,” you rasp, “You’re not.”

It occurs to you that this exercise is a little like immolation.

He’s supposed to be acting like you. But he’s acting like you at your worst, and doing so—to his credit—a little more accurately than you’d like to admit.

It strikes you as unfair. And excoriating. And you picture yourself tackling Dr Harper to the ground and choking him out.

And then Art says, “We’ve been having this fight for…?”

“Two months,” you mumble. You’re not even doing the voice anymore.

Art clicks his teeth, a sentimental crease at the corner of his eye. “I think we should break up.”

You sigh. “Yeah, probably.”

“It’ll be really hard for me.”

A guess again, but then you’re here. Doing The Work. Holding hands and roleplaying. It’s not inconceivable that you didn’t take the breakup exceptionally.

Your lip twitches. “You’ll survive.”

He pushes off his elbows and sits up straight, his knees sidling fully around your thighs, now unashamed. He gives you a look. A different one. His mouth purses to the side in some alloy of pensive amusement, a dimple delved into his cheek. His gaze coruscates with a deep cornflower intrigue.

“I think I will, actually,” he says finally.

And he has the nerve to smile. Revoltingly soft and sympathetic.

He gives your hands a parting squeeze before dropping them in your lap, his chair scraping loud the linoleum as he backs off.

You call your ex that night.

“Hey, listen,” you say, “Sorry.”

Dr Harper’s probably somewhere creaming his pants so fervently as to have rendered himself numb in a state of gleeful stupor.

“Hey,” husks your ex—who, for his flaws, has always been more magnanimous than you—before chuckling, “No worries.” You can hear that easy smile of a life unburdened by you in his voice.

Which is fine.

“How are you?” he asks then, “You good? You surviving?”

You smile wryly. You feel like you’ve been flogged by four consecutive eighteenwheelers. “I think I will, actually.”

You Google Art Donaldson.

You’re having a drink with Eleanor and Ally and Colin and a few others from the group, and you’re basically shitting all over the whole programme in a very hush-hush sort of way because you all know what an Opportunity For Growth this has been, when Art walks into the bar and spots your table and nods at the whole gang. The mood quickly shifts. Excitement, sure, but a collective wordless agreement that the lighthearted gossip between real friends ends here. You feel bad. It’s not his fault.

Art slides into your booth with beer floats and greets Colin, who’s looking at him with a senex’s disdain because he was just telling you all how he’s thinking of getting hair plugs. Again, not Art’s fault.

Art’s in camouflage, with his baseball hat and T-shirt, which you think is unnecessary because—again—you’re still quite certain no one gives enough of a shit about tennis as to recognise him in a bar.

When he slides into the booth—into the space between you and Colin—he’s careful to leave a distance between the two of you. Which you only really notice at all because you’re acutely aware of exactly how much space occupies the expanse between the two of you at any given instance.

A bunch of people at the table are already looking at him like he’s some sort of foreign dignitary.

You don’t think athletes are necessarily charming by nature, and you refuse to give Art Donaldson that kind of credit, but he doesn’t have to try very hard to make himself agreeable to everyone.

He buys a round for the whole group. He asks after jobs, and the state of marriage, and family, and life. He seems sincere enough.

You all start chatting about the various horrific relationships that lead you here, as though they were all particularly uninteresting ham and cheese sandwiches. Colin’s exfiancée diagnosed with early onset dementia. Ally’s exgirlfriend developing a heroin habit. You’ve all jabbed and scrutinised these woes to deflated nothingness, by now. None of it hurts anymore. Is that the whole point? You still don’t know.

No one knows by what fancy Dr Harper pushes you all about in his great cosmic dance of personal selfimprovement.

You do know that Art remains quiet. Generally inconspicuous, but then you’re you, so you’re paying attention. And you don’t think he should get to sit there like an archaeologist recording the fossils of your collective melancholy, as though his own warm and living bones are out of the question.

Maybe you all can pull up the People.com article, A Comprehensive Timeline of Art and Tashi Donaldson’s Perfect Relationship and Messy Divorce, and have it contribute to the conversation.

Eleanor’s telling a story about the time her ex wrested her from bed and lobbed her out of the house at 2 AM in midwinter.

“And we lived in Duluth,” Eleanor’s saying, and she’s laughing in that disconcertingly manic way she does when she shares these things. “And I sleep halfnaked, so I’m fighting frostbite, and I’m just totally mortified that one of my neighbours will see me.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about being halfnaked,” Ally shrugs.

And then you say, “Ha, yeah, I mean Art would know.”

Art—who, until now, looked like he was studiously contemplating the meniscus of his beer, or the grain of the table—flicks his gaze up to you.

You snort. “What, I’m supposed to act like everyone here hasn’t seen you oiled up and smouldering to the camera for Calvin Klein?”

A brief hush descends upon the table like a falling guillotine.

Then, laughter.

Eleanor snorts her gin and soda with such force that she coughs for a solid minute afterwards. There’s tears in her eyes and Colin is laughing at her and Ally is laughing at them both. And Art looks as embarrassed as a woman strewn porchside in her panties in midwinter in Duluth.

And—okay.

You were trying to be tongueincheek about it. But his discomfort levels are seemingly off the charts. He doesn’t know how to react and it makes him unhappy. Clearly, ten and something years of public scrutiny—and, in your defense, actually doing that photoshoot—have not prepared him for this moment.

You lean forward and awkwardly bump his fist with yours. “Hey, I’m kidding.”

But you’re not, because it was technically true.

“I thought it was artistic,” says Ally.

Eleanor, still crying laughing, “What, the fullpage spread of him fully waxed and laid out on a clay court surrounded by Great Danes?”

“Someone paid attention,” Colin chuckles, and Eleanor erupts into vibrant giggles again. Colin gives Art a courtesy clap on the shoulder before saying to Ally, “Maybe I’m old fashioned, but a Billboard of a guy wearing whities so tightie you can see his dickprint isn’t exactly Starry Night. But maybe I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to worry too much about that. The art has to get you,” Ally says, pointing at him with a fry. Ally studied theatre. “I mean, we are the most complicated machinery in our lives. You have to take yourself seriously to do something like that.”

Everyone’s looking at Art like he’s some kind of colourful textbook.

It’s not often people sit beside a guy of whom they can confidently guess the naked physique.

And maybe you’re thinking that, too; you brought it up, after all. His arms look strong in his T-shirt sleeves. Not, like, bodybuilder strong. But lean and cut. And there’s a sort of animal grace to his movements. Like a fox, or something. Even as his ears burn a practically neon shade of carmine in the dim lighting.

He clears his throat. “I doubt anyone took that seriously,” he says dryly, the corner of his mouth ruefully, if hardly, upturned.

Eleanor shoves Ally playfully, swiping her tears away in a blissful mascara smear. “My God Al, will you stop scaring him with your Uta Hagen spiel?”

The conversation meanders to other topics. Fringe stuff, briefly, like the societal implications of male sexuality and modern advertising. But then things branch off entirely—The Fast and the Furious franchise, artificial intelligence, Colin’s stepson’s career aspirations of becoming a TikTok street interviewer. Et cetera.

You hope Art isn’t looking at you when you chance a glance his way, but when have you ever been so lucky?

So he’s looking at you. He looks at you like he’s taking inventory of you at your expense. He gives a slow blink, an almost imperceptible smile, then he lifts his beer towards you and takes a swig.

At the end of the night, he asks for your number, which feels like a boot to the loins. Not because it’s profoundly unbelievable. Maybe a little surprising, but, if anything, it’s the conclusion you’ve halfanticipated all night. That’s the way he’s been looking at you, at least. It’s just the finality of it all.

But what are you gonna say? No?

You call him that night.

“Hey, listen,” you say, “Sorry.”

God, what have they done to you?

Art, on the other end of the line, presumably lounging in his stately mansion, remains cautiously silent. You sigh like you’re losing something here.

“I hope I didn’t upset you,” you say, but realise your tone is too grudging, so you adjust, “I got awkward, I was trying to be funny. Which we both know by now that I’m not. I’m just a bitch. So, I just wanted to say… you obviously look fucking amazing. And your shoot was great. Everyone can see that.” 

You swallow the dryness in your throat.

Art makes his own pained noise across the receiver. “Everyone?” he groans, and you cannot tell if you’re imagining the fleeting hue of amusement you discern there. “Please no.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say here.”

“You called me,” he scoffs. It’s a good scoff, if such a thing can be said. But he still sounds pretty incredulous with you, and not in a way that says he thinks you a moral paragon. You think he thinks you’re a bit of a monster. Which doesn’t offend you, actually. “To apologise.”

“And I did!”

“Okay?”

A silence befalls you like a yawning maw, stretching out. He could hang up on you. He doesn’t.

“Look, you can internalise the things I say at your own risk,” you say.

“You’re telling me.”

“But it was a nice photoshoot. And, you know… pretty hot and stuff, which I guess was the intended purpose.”

You feel like a corpse whose arteries are being drained of blood and filled with embalming fluid.

“Pretty hot and stuff?” he echoes. You roll your eyes.

If you’re lucky, he’s tipsy, because you guys didn’t only indulge in beer floats. So, maybe—by God’s impossible mercy—he’ll have forgotten this conversation in the morning.

“I—” you hesitate, adding a small laugh, kind of hoarse, kind of unconvincing. “I—honestly—I can’t stop watching it.”

It’s not a joke, you both realise.

His voice drops an octave. “Really?”

And—fuck. Fuck, right? But you’ve made it this far.

“Really.”

You feel his eyes on you, not Tashi. Harper has you all thronged around a burn barrel in the community centre parking lot at 8 PM on a Wednesday. Scintillating honeygold flames lick at the night and shadow his face at pretty angles. And he’s reading his letter—that letter—and looking at you.

That’s bad.

This is supposed to be a cathartic and utterly sexless exercise in closure.

But you feel like a filthy fraud.

You’re crossing your arms, and blinking off the flameheat, and pretending not to stare at the scarp of his Adam’s apple and his tendons working beneath the skin of his hands.

He clears his throat, and his lips are moving like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Tashi,” he starts.

Her name, when he says it, still sounds like a tender orison. But last time he’d been reciting this thing, his eyes had been all flushed, raw, and misty, his voice abraded at its edges. Now—well—Agnes hasn’t slipped him a tissue in weeks.

“I still love— do we have to do this again? Can’t I just throw it in?”

The group sputters into giggles. You don’t know who brought the sweet Moscato.

Dr Harper pinches his nosebridge like an enervated preschool teacher. You think he, of all people, ought to be pleased—and you suspect he furtively is, but doesn’t want to discourage your good spirits with his approval—because, as much as you’re loathed to acknowledge it, all his forcible, unwelcome attempts at conjuring vulnerability amongst the lot of you have actually kind of worked.

The fire warms your brows to dampness, the saccharine acidity of the spirit seeping through your flesh and sweltering the rest of you. You should’ve worn a thinner sweater.

“Art,” says Dr Harper, “Your feelings are valid. Even—” The group interjects with a smattering of jeers, a slurred, densetongued amalgam of fuck you! and get a life, Harper! and other stuff to that effect. “—even your reluctance.”

The flames thrash deep indigo and copper. No one can quit laughing.

Dr Harper continues, “But the whole point of the exercise is—”

“Come on, Doc, we’re still pretending these exercises have points?” someone heckles.

“We’re still calling these exercises?” says someone else.

“Hurry up and cry already, Donaldson, I got work tomorrow.”

“Alright, alright,” Art raises a hand and everyone wanes to a simmer of firewarm drunken murmurs as though he’s some sort of Biblical king.

You roll your eyes, but you keep thinking of Great Danes on tennis courts and tightiewhities.

Everyone cheers like this is fucking Madison Square Garden when Art holds his hand out for the bottle, teeth scintillating in the pyreglow with a wry slanting smile.

He takes a long, healthy swig. You think you hear someone whistle. His lips gleam with moisture when they pop off the glass bottlemouth.

“You wanna see me cry?” he grins, eminently rueful and amused and resigned, all at once.

And everyone hurrahs and hollers and maybe some people even bark. He’s being pushed around affectionately from all angles. His gaze is sharp and garlanded by flames and trained on you. You raise your brows at him wryly, perhaps a little dubious, before lifting your hands and joining in the applause.

He clears his throat and sweeps his tongue over his upper lip and flicks the paper out like a Shakespearean scroll.

“Tashi,” he starts again.

You watch the fire lave and singe and swallow all your bitter, pathetic epistles.

Tashi.

I still love you. I’m still sorry. For something, or everything. For anything, really. It’s mostly okay, but it’s worse at night. And on weekends, and with Lily, and when the microwave starts making that shitty sound that you hated.

I miss you deep in my bones. I—

The flames scorch his words to flickering cinders.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and his bottom lashes glisten with tears. But he’s grinning widely. He’s laughing. He’s laughing a lot. Padma sings ‘Auld Lang Syne’, for some reason.

The goodbyes are a little maudlin, but sincere.

It’s time for you to all go home and actually get over your exes, which feels a bit jilting.

Art walks you to your car, and you let him, and you even let him get in your car, which is probably not a good idea. But it’s the end of the stupid workshop and you want to spend more time together. There, you can admit it.

You even say it out loud.

“I’m gonna miss this corny bullshit.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says, a little more quiet.

When the middle backseat belt buckle is digging sharply into your hip, and he’s got you pinned beneath him, and his hands are everywhere—seriously, it seems he was just waiting for your permission, because he’s squeezing all the flesh he can reach, slipping his hands under your shirt, between your thighs, just absolutely no decorum on this guy—you think to yourself, this motherfucker.

A spherule of spearmint gum slips from his mouth and into yours.

You’d thought, too, that he’d be more deft with this. And he is, but he’s also very clunky. Maybe because your car’s quite small. He’s not huge, but he is still fairly tall and broad and trying to fit himself between your thighs while covering you with his body in this small space, so it’s a bit chaotic. You don’t really mind.

And—yes—you have thought about it.

There’s a shot of him, in the Calvin Klein campaign, sprawled across the court in greyscale, his hand resting on his middle, his other arm above his head.

You know they edit those photos. That there’s some kid, fresh out of graphic design school, rubbing one out while airbrushing these halfnaked men to oblivion. But you now see—feel, more than see, really; there’s a streetlight nearby, but it’s blown, so you’re all touch—that such satin cannot be contrived. He really is that smooth. There’s not a bit of fat on him, but he’s oddly liquidfeeling, skin sloughing off like cream.

He’s always looked almost uncomfortably boyish to you. But you’re realising now that there’s an abrasiveness to his haggard breathing, and that potent, vaguely olid, mannish fume to his skin.

It's really doing it for you.

In that shot, he was lying right beside the polyethylene net and the sun was beaming down, searing alabaster, through the lattice, at an angle that splayed shadows all across him. The lines warping over the slopes of his body.

You feel the phantom crisscross of those shadows between your thighs now.

His eyes are still a little wet. He tells you he’s wanted to do this since he saw you giving him the jettatura while he was signing that racket for Harper's daughter. He also tells you he bets you’ve wanted to do this since you saw him in tightiewhities lying under a tennis net.

Can he be your tennis net?

You don’t even know what that means.

You laugh a little, but then he slips a finger inside you and latches his mouth to your pulse, and it is hot as magma, and you forget all about Great Danes and apologies and fires.

You would think they do some computer magic to make the cocks look bigger in those things, too.

They don’t.

To be fair, he doesn’t have some kind of doubletake worthy, John Holmes ordeal or anything, in the pictures. But the slope beneath the cotton, the bend of his hips like the handle of a water pitcher, all that pearlescent skin—so what if your saliva gathered on your tongue as you leaned in (way too closely) toward your laptop screen?

You feel especially shameless now as he slides into you.

Sure, the buckle is a bitch and the seatleather’s sort of chafing your ass and your elbow’s in a cup holder. But you take furtive pleasure in thinking that some people’s fantasies about him probably go like this.

The softest thing is his hand cupping the back of your neck, dragging your head up. It’s a weird contrast to the way his dick is pumping erratically in and out of you. Like he’s trying to control himself, maybe add a little romance.

You keep your eyes open to watch the way his body moves. Fuck it, you wanna see what all the fuss is about.

The talented Mr Ripley whose volleys (and probably orgasms) are intensive, frenetic affairs of selfpersuasion. Unless, of course, he’s fucking the random, judgy woman he met in a group therapy session. In this particular case—though laboured all the same—he comes harder and slower and you hear his panting groans in your ear as you shudder through your own pleasure.

He pulls your hips closer and empties himself in you and you rub yourself against him and you try to keep your eyes open, but, ultimately, you concede that you can only experience this pleasure in the dark.

You keep feeling his muscles work beneath your hands, though.

Dr Harper strongly recommends that you two not start seeing each other. He does just about everything but get on his knees and beg. And even that he nearly does. He reminds you that, on your Vision Tree, you mapped yourself single for at least the next two years.

But Art says he’s had enough of other people saying what’s good for him.

And your Vision Tree also forecasted you taking up jogging, which—come on.

[definegodliness]

Update (good news!)

First of all, thank you all for your well wishes.

Yesterday when I woke up the swelling finally got less, so those gnarly antibiotics are now doing more than maintaining the status quo. I called the jaw surgeon for an appointment, and next Thursday I'll be getting an Apex Resection. To save you any googling, it's basically a root canal from the side, where they'll open up my gums and then drill through my jaw bone to do so.

I put the appointment on Thursday so the antibiotics can do their work a bit more. It'll make the surgery easier the more the abscess dwindles, and I'm already in this kind of fighting mode I feel I can keep up (especially since the worst is over). So I traded in a little agony these days, to save me some agony in the oncoming days.

So here's to hoping Thursday I'll be going to hospital with a somewhat normal cheek. I don't think it'll be completely normal, because it's still going really slow, but I'm feeling confident this is the right decision.

I'll probably get antibiotics again. Not sure how I'll react to those, but these ones have been kicking my ass with side effects, which is why I haven't been Tumblring. I'm glad I'm not allergic to the stuff because it's doing it's thing, but, damn, am I sensitive to those pills. General misery. I won't bore you with the details.

Miss you guys!

[sgiandubh]

I would like to thank you. I really enjoy reading what you write. It's enough to be comforting. Thank you very much. Sorry for the English, I used Google. 😘

Dear Google Anon,

This blog is not a fascist project and I will never turn away any user who touchingly used Google Translate to read my musings. I only slap the holier-than-thou, the liars, the party poopers and the cerebral flatulence of Mordor, whose venom and bile I truly despise, especially when they are expressed in sometimes illegible English.

I am also very antithetically fond of non-professionals daring to have very strong words and very strong opinions on technical matters they absolutely have no idea about, such as a property's legal situation. I would never have the nerve or the lack of common sense to discuss the various merits or side effects of a root canal intervention, for example. It's just ridiculous: but that's another story, of course.

As you all know by now, English is not my native language. But I think it is a sign of respect to try your best when writing for an anglophone audience. You wouldn't go to your (Agony) Aunt's dining room and put your feet on her table, would you?

May I warmly thank you for your kindness and confidence. I try to keep it simple and clear, if seldom short. And I never judge, except when it comes to aggressive idiocy, weird agendas or patronizing bitching.

Thank you again, Anon. Truly. Drop by anytime.

[blogging1202]

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[seashellronan]

Extractions are usually cheaper than root canals by a long way, if it's a tooth you can live without. Paracetamol and ibuprofen are the main stays of treatment (take both together for max effect, avoid ibuprofen if you have stomach ulcers, take paracetamol REGULARLY every 8 hoirs whether you have pain or not), though some doctord/dentists might prescribe you codeine. As for other pain options, this is a long shot but i once had a patient with root canal pain in one of the top side teeth. She had figured out that if she constantly pressed on a specific spot on her cheek bone, the pain lessened. Google the infraorbital nerve and infraorbital foramen (the hole in the cheekbone that nerve passes through). That will tell you whether your specific painful tooth might be responsive to the same treatment, and where to press if so. (Basically, keeping pressure on the nerve tbat carries sensation from those teeth, can reduce the amount of pain you feel from that tooth, same as when you sleep funny and wake up with a numb arm because the nerves where being squashed while you slept).

Other measures you will already have figured out includes avoiding cold food/water in your mouth (in severe cases even breathing through the mouth can be too painful), and also sometimes avoiding hot and sweet. Heat packs on your face might be helpful. If you're in a pain crisis, the dentist should be able to numb the area for you with an injection, though I'm sure you'd have to pay for a consultation fee or something. Good luck, I hope it works out.

thank you for the help i couldn’t opt for extraction because it’s too close to the front and would cause my other teeth to shift but i’ve gotten the root canal after borrowing money from my boyfriend and good news is he says i should hopefully not need a crown because they can put in a post later to stabilise it so hopefully should be all okay

[health-wellness-26]

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[afniel]

Oh I've got to finish the art and I'm slower than I thought because I keep sleeping like a maniac...thanks, root canal, I did not expect side effects to include "sleeping 12-14 hours a day" but I probably should have.

[saxonvoter]

@cranialgames

Ooff, yeah I'd definitely say gallstones are the 2nd worst after tooth pain (nerve pain after root canal). And I only have *small* stones according to the x-ray or smth they finally did after years and years of having this.

I also had like, one singular pain killer/relaxant prescription med (Litalgin) that worked like 95% of the time within like 15-30 minutes, but now they've stopped selling it and recalled the whole product, because apparently it has some kinda bad side effects in long term use. Even tho I honestly only need to take one like once a month, if even that. Sucks to be us, I guess.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[greenbrierdentalexcellence0]

Restoring Smiles with Greenbrier Dental Excellence: You’re Guide to Dental Crowns and Bridges in Greenbrier, TN

In the world of dentistry, preserving the health and beauty of your smile is paramount. At Greenbrier Dental Excellence, we understand that dental issues can significantly impact your confidence and overall well-being. Among the various dental solutions available, Dental Crowns Greenbrier, TN and dental bridges stand out as two of the most effective treatments for restoring teeth. This article will delve into these procedures, explaining their importance, process, and the benefits they offer for patients in Greenbrier, TN.

Understanding Dental Crowns

What Are Dental Crowns?

A dental crown is a cap placed over a damaged tooth to restore its shape, size, strength, and appearance. Crowns are often necessary when a tooth has suffered significant decay, trauma, or wear and tear. They can also be used to cover a dental implant or protect a tooth after a root canal treatment.

When Are Dental Crowns Needed?

Dental crowns serve multiple purposes and are typically recommended in the following scenarios:

Severe Decay: When a cavity is too large for a filling, a crown can restore the tooth's structure.

Fractured or Cracked Tooth: A crown can hold a broken tooth together and prevent further damage.

Post-Root Canal: After a root canal, a tooth may be weak. A crown protects it and restores functionality.

Cosmetic Improvements: Crowns can enhance the appearance of discolored or misshaped teeth.

The Process of Getting a Dental Crown

The process for obtaining a dental crown at Greenbrier Dental Excellence typically involves two visits:

Initial Consultation: During your first visit, our experienced dental professionals will evaluate your tooth and take X-rays to determine the extent of the damage. If a crown is necessary, the tooth will be prepared by removing any decay and reshaping it to accommodate the crown.

Impressions and Temporary Crown: After shaping the tooth, impressions will be taken to create a custom crown that fits perfectly. A temporary crown will be placed to protect your tooth while the permanent crown is being made.

Fitting the Permanent Crown: Once your permanent crown is ready, you will return for a second visit. The temporary crown will be removed, and the new crown will be placed, ensuring a proper fit and aesthetic appearance. Once adjusted, the crown will be cemented into place.

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Opting for dental crowns comes with a host of benefits:

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Natural Appearance: Modern crowns can be designed to match the color and shape of your natural teeth, ensuring a seamless look.

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Understanding Dental Bridges

What Are Dental Bridges?

A dental bridge is a prosthetic device used to replace one or more missing teeth. Bridges "bridge" the gap created by absent teeth, restoring functionality and aesthetics. They consist of two or more crowns for the teeth on either side of the gap and a false tooth (or teeth) in between.

When Are Dental Bridges Needed?

Dental bridges are recommended in several situations, including:

Missing Teeth: If you have lost a tooth due to decay, injury, or periodontal disease, a bridge can fill the gap.

Preventing Shifting Teeth: Missing teeth can lead to neighboring teeth shifting out of place. A bridge helps maintain proper alignment.

Improved Bite Function: Replacing missing teeth restores your ability to chew effectively, enhancing your overall nutrition and health.

The Process of Getting a Dental Bridge

Getting a dental bridge at Greenbrier Dental Excellence generally involves the following steps:

Consultation and Examination: Your dentist will examine your mouth and take X-rays to assess the health of your surrounding teeth. If a bridge is deemed necessary, a treatment plan will be developed.

Tooth Preparation: The adjacent teeth that will support the bridge (abutment teeth) will be prepared by removing a portion of enamel to accommodate crowns. Impressions will then be taken to create a custom bridge.

Temporary Bridge: While your permanent bridge is being fabricated, a temporary bridge will be placed to protect your teeth and maintain aesthetics.

Fitting the Permanent Bridge: Once the permanent bridge is ready, you will return for a fitting appointment. Adjustments will be made for comfort and appearance before cementing it into place.

Benefits of Dental Bridges

Choosing a dental bridge comes with numerous advantages:

Restored Functionality: Bridges allow you to eat and speak without difficulty, improving your overall quality of life.

Natural Appearance: Like crowns, bridges can be made to match the color and shape of your natural teeth, ensuring a cohesive look.

Preventing Bone Loss: Replacing missing teeth helps maintain jawbone density and structure, preventing further dental issues.

Why Choose Greenbrier Dental Excellence?

At Greenbrier Dental Excellence, our commitment to patient care and satisfaction sets us apart. Here are a few reasons why patients in Greenbrier, TN, choose us for their dental crown and bridge needs:

Experienced Professionals: Our team consists of highly trained and experienced dental professionals dedicated to providing the highest quality care.

State-of-the-Art Technology: We utilize advanced dental technology to ensure accurate diagnostics and precise treatments, improving patient outcomes.

Personalized Treatment Plans: We understand that every patient is unique. Our team takes the time to create individualized treatment plans that cater to your specific needs and goals.

Compassionate Care: We prioritize patient comfort and strive to create a welcoming environment where you feel relaxed and cared for.

Comprehensive Services: Beyond crowns and bridges, we offer a full range of dental services, including preventive care, cosmetic dentistry, and restorative treatments.

Conclusion

Restoring your smile with dental crowns and Dental Bridges Greenbrier, TN can dramatically enhance both your appearance and oral health. At Greenbrier Dental Excellence, we are committed to providing our patients in Greenbrier, TN, with top-notch dental solutions tailored to their needs. Whether you're facing significant decay, a fractured tooth, or missing teeth, our experienced team is here to help.

If you’re considering dental crowns or bridges, contact us today to schedule a consultation. Together, we can help you achieve a healthy, beautiful smile that lasts a lifetime. Don’t wait—take the first step toward restoring your smile and improving your quality of life!

[kdlmedtech]

Step-by-Step Guide to Choosing Dental Irrigation Needle

Dental irrigation is essential for maintaining oral health, and dental professionals know the importance of using the right tools to achieve effective cleaning. Dental irrigation needles play a crucial role in delivering fluids to clean out debris and bacteria from oral cavities and root canals. With so many options available, choosing the best dental irrigation needle can be challenging. This guide will help you understand the different types, features, and factors to consider when selecting a dental irrigation needle, as well as compare some top brands, including KDL.

Why Dental Irrigation Needles Matter for Your Practice

Dental irrigation needles is use in various procedures, from routine cleanings to root canal treatments. The right needle can help ensure that cleaning solutions reach all areas that need attention, which reduces the risk of infection and improves patient outcomes. Choosing a high-quality needle not only enhances the effectiveness of treatments but also increases patient comfort by minimizing tissue damage. Understanding the different types of needles and their specific uses can help you make an informed decision that benefits your practice and your patients.

Overview of Common Types of Dental Needles

When it comes to dental irrigation, not all needles are the same. Different types of needles are designed for specific purposes, offering varying levels of irrigation control, safety, and efficiency. Here’s an overview of the most common types:

1. Side-Ported Needles

Side-ported needles feature an opening on the side of the needle, which allows the irrigation fluid to flow out at an angle rather than directly from the tip. This design helps reduce pressure and the risk of tissue damage, making it ideal for deep cleaning and sensitive areas. Side-ported needles are often used for thorough rinsing of root canals or areas near soft tissue.

Pros: Lower risk of tissue damage, suitable for sensitive areas.

Cons: May not provide as targeted a cleaning as end-ported needles.

2. End-Ported Needles

End-ported needles have an opening at the tip, allowing fluids to flow directly out in a straight line. This design offers more control over the direction of irrigation, making it useful for flushing out debris from a specific spot. End-ported needles are commonly used in procedures that require focused irrigation, such as removing debris from deep cavities.

Pros: Provides targeted cleaning, effective for debris removal.

Cons: Requires careful pressure control to avoid tissue irritation.

3. Double-Side Ported Needles

Double-side ported dental needle have openings on both sides, which distribute the irrigation fluid more evenly. This design offers a balance between safety and efficiency, making it versatile for different dental procedures. It allows for thorough irrigation without the risk of over-pressurizing a specific area.

Pros: Suitable for various procedures, safer for sensitive tissues.

Cons: Less focused than end-ported needles, may not be ideal for all treatments.

4. Disposable vs. Reusable Needles

Dental irrigation needles can be disposable or reusable. Disposable needles are pre-sterilized and intended for single use, which helps prevent cross-contamination and saves time on sterilization procedures. Reusable needles can be sterilized and used multiple times, which may be cost-effective but requires strict adherence to sterilization protocols.

Disposable Needles: Convenient and safe but can be more costly over time.

Reusable Needles: Cost-effective in the long term but require careful sterilization to maintain hygiene.

Key Factors to Consider When Choosing a Dental Irrigation Needle

Selecting the right dental irrigation needle for your practice involves considering various factors, including the type of needle, its features, and how it fits your specific needs. Here are some key factors to keep in mind:

1. Gauge Size

Dental irrigation needles come in different gauges, which refer to the diameter of the needle. Smaller gauges (higher numbers) have thinner needles, which can provide more precise irrigation and are less likely to cause tissue damage. Larger gauges (lower numbers) are thicker and may be better for irrigating larger areas quickly.

Thin Needles (Higher Gauge): Ideal for delicate procedures that require precision.

Thicker Needles (Lower Gauge): Better for covering larger areas with irrigation fluid.

2. Needle Tip Design

The design of the needle tip critically influences the delivery of the irrigation fluid. Side-ported and double-side ported needles offer more safety by reducing the risk of pressure buildup, while end-ported needles are better for directing fluids to specific areas.

3. Material and Coating

Manufacturers create quality dental irrigation needles from durable materials like stainless steel, which resists corrosion and ensures a smooth flow of irrigation fluid. Some needles may have specialized coatings to enhance durability and reduce friction, making them more comfortable for patients.

4. Compatibility with Syringes or Irrigation Devices

Not all needles are compatible with every syringe or irrigation device. Ensure that the dental irrigation needle you choose is compatible with the equipment you use in your practice to avoid any complications during procedures.

5. Sterility and Packaging

Pre-sterilized needles in single-use packaging are a convenient option to ensure that your tools are hygienic and ready for use. If you opt for reusable needles, ensure you have a reliable sterilization process in place to maintain safety standards.

KDL Dental Irrigation Needles the Standard for Quality and Precision

Now that you understand the different types of needles and factors to consider, let’s look at some popular dental irrigation needle brands, including KDL, and see how they compare.

KDL offers high-quality dental irrigation needles designed for both routine and complex procedures. Their needles are made from durable materials, ensuring long-lasting performance and corrosion resistance. KDL’s range includes various gauge sizes and designs, including side-ported and end-ported options, catering to different irrigation needs.

Unique Selling Points: Wide range of sizes, high-quality materials, reliable performance.

Best for: Dental professionals who need versatile and durable irrigation solutions.

Common Mistakes to Avoid When Choosing Dental Irrigation Needle

Making the right choice involves avoiding some common pitfalls:

Not Considering Needle Tip Design: Selecting a needle without paying attention to the tip design can result in inefficient irrigation.

Ignoring Gauge Size Impact: The wrong gauge size may lead to discomfort for patients or ineffective cleaning.

Overlooking Equipment Compatibility: Always check that the needle works with your existing syringes or devices.

Conclusion

Dental irrigation is a key aspect of oral health care, and choosing the right needle can make a significant difference in treatment outcomes. By understanding the types of dental irrigation needles, their features, and how to compare different brands, you can make an informed decision that benefits both your practice and your patients. Consider factors like gauge size, needle tip design, and compatibility with your equipment when making your choice. For high-quality options, KDL offers a range of durable and versatile dental irrigation needles suitable for various dental procedures.

Visit KDL for more information on the best dental irrigation needles for your practice. Make your dental procedures more effective and safer by choosing the right tools today.

Source :Step-by-Step Guide to Choosing Dental Irrigation Needle

[indescriptequilibrium]

wow i can actually weigh in on this now! hell yeag. pre-op transfems! consider an orchiectomy/orchidectomy (surgical removal of testicles). i had it done THIS MONTH n it's already been genuinely life-changing.

i went to get it done in the morning n walked out in the afternoon. procedure was done under anesthesia so i fell asleep n woke up with no balls n in no pain. i wasnt even catheterized. i was prescribed 1g ibuprofen 1g paracetamol 3x per day n that (plus copious amounts of frankly pretty shit weed lol) was enough for pain. i'm now 25 days post-op n this is my second week back to work.

random notes in no particular order: if HRT hasnt taken ur ability to have an erection, this most likely wont either. i was able to have penetrative sex a couple days after (doctors say u shouldnt for 2wks cuz of infection risk so dont do it but im just sayin). u can store sperm cells if u wanna have bio kids later (i didnt cuz i dont wanna). u wont have to take an anti-androgen anymore so u save money n get rid of side-effects.

two weeks of sick leave was enough for me for the wound to close up n the melting stitches to melt n rip away altho i didnt take mega good care of the wound (sex+sauna (w/ a small towel n icepack covering the wound lol (dont do this))) n have diabetes etc so u might heal even quicker. doctor recommended just washing the wound with water n drying it with a separate towel by dabbing n keepin it dry, which worked. the worst Gunk accumulated to the melting stitches so i had to use a lil precision w/ keepin those clean w/out ripping the stitches. otherwise, i can imagine something like tonsil surgery or a root canal bein more annoyin recovery-wise <- not hyperbole

the discomfort of balls dysphoria vs immediate post-op (medicated) discomfort was about the same (which mayhaps informs u of the level of dysphoria i was struggling before), with every day making it less n less. i can already wear my pants way higher w/out discomfort (i never tucked cuz it was horrid to me) n feel very free. this was one of the best decisions i've done in my whole life. w/out gettin into the jokes this procedure has a way longer history than vaginoplasty (which is basically a magic already, see above) n the whole experience was incredibly non-dramatic n pleasant n instantly relieving. n rest assured u can always get vaginoplasty after an orchiectomy. <3

we should hype up bottom surgery more i think. both twitter transphobes and chronically online trans people really like to be disgusted at phalloplasty, vaginoplasty, ext. and i really think we should treat them as cool and sexy and neutral like top surgery scars or whatever

[varshinicpcbe]

Smile Correction in Coimbatore

Shaad Aesthetics offers a wide range of smile correction treatment in Coimbatore. Some of them are

Veneers

Crowns

Teeth Whitening

Gummy Smile

Aesthetic Smile

Tooth Jewellery

Veneers

Veneers are thin, custom-made covers made from porcelain or composite resin. They fit over the front of your teeth. In cosmetic dentistry, they are used to make teeth look better by changing their color, shape, size, or length.

As part of a complete smile makeover, veneer treatment can help you can achieve a flawless, radiant smile that will leave you feeling confident and camera-ready.

Crowns

Crowns are tooth-shaped caps that cover a damaged or weak tooth. They help restore the tooth’s shape, size, and strength. Crowns can also improve the appearance of the tooth. They are often used after a tooth has been broken, has a large filling, or needs protection after a root canal.

They use only the latest and most high-end materials for our crowns, including metal-free ceramic crowns and metal ceramic crowns. While metal crowns are still available, most dentists today prefer metal-free ceramic crowns because they mimic the natural tooth structure and give off a much more natural look.

Teeth Whitening

Shaad uses Veneers as the part of teeth whitening. They offers porcelain veneers, a great option for anyone looking for smile correction in Coimbatore. They also provide professional teeth whitening to help brighten your smile. In addition to porcelain veneers, they also provide dental bleaching. This is a popular way to brighten teeth that look dull. It is safe and works well for people who don’t have major dental problems but have stains from things like food or drinks.

These stains can come from things like medication, food, and habits like drinking coffee, smoking, and chewing tobacco. They can be yellow, brown, red, or black, and you might also see white spots from medical issues.

Gummy Smile

A gummy smile is when too much of the gums shows when someone smiles. This can make the teeth look smaller or less noticeable. Some people want to change this for a more balanced smile.

Their cosmetic dentistry uses the latest laser technology to fix gum problems easily. Our advanced methods cause less pain, less bleeding, and help you heal quickly.

Gum contouring is a great option for people with a gummy smile, uneven gums, or short teeth.

Aesthetic Fillers

Aesthetic fillers are substances used to fill in wrinkles, add volume, or enhance features like lips and cheeks. They help improve the appearance of the skin and make it look smoother and younger. The procedure is quick and usually doesn’t require much downtime.

Their fillings are made from high-quality composite material that blends well with your natural teeth. They look great and are very strong.

Unlike metal fillings, our composite fillings are almost invisible, giving you a natural-looking smile you can show off with confidence. They use advanced techniques and modern equipment to make the filling process comfortable, quick, and effective.

Tooth Jewellery

Tooth jewellery is a small decorative item that can be attached to a tooth, usually the front ones. It is often a gem or a tiny design that adds some sparkle to your smile. Tooth jewellery is a fun way to express your style and make your smile stand out. It is safe and can be easily removed if you want.

Their tooth gems come in crystal clear, sapphire blue, and ruby red. They are attached to a thin piece of aluminum and come in two sizes (1.8mm and 2.6mm) and different shapes to match your style.

Their skilled dentists will first clean the teeth you choose, usually the side teeth or canines, before using a special material to bond the gem to the front of the tooth. Let your smile shine with our beautiful tooth jewellery