#hair grafting price

[hairtransplant-stories]

Cost of Hair Transplant in India (2024) | Guide by Dr. Kiran Chotaliya

Hello, I’m Dr. Kiran Chotaliya and today, we’ll dive into a vital topic for anyone considering a hair transplant — the cost of hair transplants in India. With over a decade of experience, I aim to provide you with a comprehensive understanding of how hair transplant costs vary across cities, clinics, techniques, and other factors.

Let’s begin!

Understanding Hair Transplant Costs

Hair transplant costs in India can vary significantly based on:

City: Major cities like Pune, Hyderabad, Bangalore, Mumbai, Delhi, Ahmedabad, and Kolkata often have higher costs compared to smaller cities.

Clinic: The reputation, infrastructure, and safety profile of a clinic greatly influence the pricing.

Technique: Advanced techniques and technology play a crucial role in determining the cost.

Key Factors Influencing Hair Transplant Costs

Number of Grafts Required A graft is a cluster of hair follicles. The cost largely depends on the number of grafts needed, which varies based on the level of baldness.

Example: If 2,000 grafts are required and the cost per graft is ₹30, the total cost would be ₹60,000.

Baldness grade and area density help determine the number of grafts needed.

2. Baldness Level

Lower grades (e.g., Grades 2–3) require fewer grafts, leading to lower costs.

Higher grades (e.g., Grades 4–7) involve larger areas and more grafts, increasing the price.

3. Clinic Location

Clinics in metropolitan cities charge more due to higher operational and staffing costs.

Suburban or smaller city clinics might offer more affordable options.

4. Clinic Infrastructure and Safety Standards

Choose a clinic with advanced infrastructure, sterile operating theaters, and safety protocols to ensure effective and risk-free results.

Verify the clinic’s emergency handling capacity and proximity to hospitals.

5. Team Expertise

The experience and skills of the surgeons and technicians performing the procedure play a significant role.

Ensure the clinic has qualified staff, not just marketing-based reputations.

6. Technique and Technology

Modern techniques like FUE (Follicular Unit Extraction) or DHI (Direct Hair Implantation) may cost more but offer better results.

Advanced equipment and instruments ensure precision and minimize risks.

7 . Reputation and Post-Surgery Care

Research the clinic’s long-term reputation.

Reliable clinics provide thorough follow-ups and support to maintain transplanted and existing hair.

Cost Breakdown Examples

Here’s a rough estimate of hair transplant costs based on graft requirements:

1,000 Grafts: ₹20,000–₹45,000

2,000 Grafts: ₹40,000–₹90,000

3,000 Grafts: ₹60,000–₹1,35,000

The cost per graft typically ranges from ₹20 to ₹100, depending on the clinic and location.

Choosing the Right Clinic

When selecting a clinic:

Verify the surgeon’s credentials and experience.

Visit the clinic to assess hygiene and infrastructure.

Avoid making decisions based solely on discounts or promotional offers.

Conclusion

While affordability is important, compromising on quality can lead to hidden costs like poor results or additional corrective procedures. Choose a clinic that combines expertise, safety, and modern technology to ensure the best outcomes.

At Hairfree And Hairgrow, we prioritize patient satisfaction and transparency. For personalized consultations and cost estimates, feel free to reach out to us.

Transform your confidence with the right hair transplant!

[igraft]

Onion Juice for Hair Growth: Hair Care Tips By iGraft Pune

Onion Juice for Hair Growth: Myths & Facts

Introduction: In the realm of natural hair remedies, onion juice has gained substantial attention as a potential solution for hair regrowth. Onion Juice for Hair Growth With claims of its effectiveness circulating widely, it’s time to delve into the truth behind this phenomenon. In this blog post, Onion Juice for Hair Growth , we’ll explore the scientific basis, benefits, and limitations of using onion juice for hair regrowth to determine whether it’s a fact or just another fiction.

Contents  hide 

1 Fact or Fiction: Can Onion Juice Regrow Hair? Separating Myth from Reality

2 Onion Juice for Hair Growth: Myths & Facts

The Science Behind Onion Juice for Hair Growth: Discuss the compounds found in onion juice that are believed to contribute to its potential hair-regrowth properties. Highlight the presence of sulfur compounds, antioxidants, and their supposed impact on hair follicles and scalp health.

Research and Studies: Present the results of scientific studies and research conducted on the effects of onion juice on hair regrowth. Onion Juice for Hair Growth ,Address the quality of these studies, including sample size, methodology, and reliability, to give readers a balanced perspective.

Let’s start by learning how to extract onion juice.

To extract onion juice, you must first:

1. Cut onion slices into tiny cubs.

2. Blend it up until it resembles a paste.

3. Remove the pulp and drain the juice.

4. Gently apply it to your scalp using a brush.

You can extract onion juice using these four processes, but why is it said to have the unique ability to promote hair growth?

[peachetteprice]

I think I blacked out when I wrote this - CW; infidelity, miscarriage, squirting, oral sex... John Price being the biggest fucking DILF of a married man.

Everybody says John Price Dad's Best Friend, John Price Dad's Best Friend; SHUT THE FUCK UP.

John Price Husband's Best Friend?

-

It was a really a stroke of misfortune that you met Peter before John.

He was a nice enough man; he wore a tie to your first date, for God's sake, but he was, what some might call, rough around the edges. He laughed too loudly and finished it off with a piggish snort. He dribbled Kopparberg onto his torso when drunk. He was sloppy in bed. He never remembered your wedding anniversary, even though it was the same day as his own parents'. He always forgot to clean his beard hairs from the bathroom sink.

The town you forged your career in, and indeed the town you settled down in, was small, the lot of you cramped into townhouses up and down the street like mill workers, always seeing the same faces and saying 'lovely day, isn't it?' to the same few people.

Peter went wherever John did; it had been that way since they were 11 years old. You figured that out when you finally met the man, two months into your relationship, pregnant with Pete's son, when Pete followed him to the bathroom to talk motorbikes, whilst John had tried to ask how you were feeling all evening - you hadn't touched your pasta once. John came to your wedding - he was the photographer, in fact. He was right alongside you for the welcoming of your first child, your second, your third that never quite made it to birth, and you were there whilst his wife Linda had her first, her second, her miracle third. Lovely woman, Linda. A tad abrasive to the ears whenever she spoke, but lovely nonetheless - she held your hand as you delivered your stillborn when Paul was away in London and told you it simply wasn't meant to be.

Of course, that was the cruelty of the village life - everyone knew everyone, for better and for worse.

John accompanied Linda to every parents' evening and listened attentively when you explained that their third child, their son Owen, may possibly qualify for autism, and John held her as she sobbed and spit vitriol about it all being one big joke that the universe was pulling on her - the joke that she had three gorgeous, darling children with a man who bought her flowers and chocolates every time they had sex, whilst yours put a towel on the bedsheets for 'splatter' and a hand over your mouth when you were being 'annoyingly loud'.

Something changed when Peter crashed his 1987 Ducati and was hospitalised for three days. It was all a bit touch-and-go, really. He required a skin graft on his knee and a rod through his hip and a dozen injections that sent him right to sleep whenever he woke up and wanted to talk. John sat right beside you throughout the whole debacle. Each day. Every night. He rested his hand on your knee. He wiped the tears from your eyes. He hugged your shoulders.

Something certainly changed. Three weeks after his hospitalisation, Peter wished for a celebratory dinner. Everyone was invited. John, Linda, their three children, including little Owen, who sat in the corner with his tablet and played colour-matching games whilst the others scarpered around the house; Peter, you, your two children, Linda's friend Holly and her husband Ben, Rachel and Samuel. Everyone was invited, and they all wanted to play Scrabble at the end of a long evening, but you were never one for finding the right words.

"How are you?" John asked as he sat down on the sofa. It was just the two of you at that point.

No kids - they were cavorting about upstairs - no television, no phone conversation, no distractions, just the lamp on the little table emitting a warm glow against the hollow of his face, and four glass-fulls of red wine in both of your stomachs.

He had his arm around the rear of the sofa, elongated. His fingers could touch your hair, but he made sure not to let them.

"Fine, thanks." You smiled, and that was about it for the the sorts of conversations you found you had nowadays - Peter and Linda tended to have a lot more things to talk about between the four of you than you and John combined. Life had sucked the whimsy out of the both of you - you realised it when Linda was five months gone with her first.

Eleven years ago, that was.

There was a hoot in the background from Samuel - he just won Scrabble. Yahtzee, he posed for them to play, and they all readily agreed.

"How are you really, I mean?" John asked. He was closer, now, idling with his watered-down Scotch in hand.

On Tuesdays, there was the PTA at the school. The headmaster raved at there being a new curriculum scheme added to the roster, and you hardly had the time to get your head around it. There was swimming on a Wednesday from four until five, football on Thursday for your son from six until seven, Netball on Friday for your daughter from five until six. The kids needed their lunches packed daily but they didn't want ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches or tuna sandwiches because they apparently didn't like ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches or tuna sandwiches even though for the past 5-8 years all they'd eaten was ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches and tuna sandwiches, so your son had chicken and lettuce and your daughter had egg mayo. Of course, the dog needed walking after work every evening and before work every morning, and Peter had decided he didn't want to walk the dog every evening and every morning so it was up to you to walk the dog every evening and every morning. You'd recently been tolerating a burning pain in your abdomen that the GP told you was probably not likely to be cancerous, but nonetheless had advised you not to rule it out as a possibility, and above all of that, you hadn't gotten over your third child in your third bedroom that stayed a nursery since the day he never came home.

Your voice wavered as you spoke. "Just busy, I suppose."

John smoothed a hand over your knee, and there it was again - that feeling of having lost something you never had in the first place. "Well, you look good for 'just busy'."

You surprised yourself when you laughed.

"How's Owen?" You probed - as his teacher, John couldn't keep quiet.

"Yeah, well, he'll get over his mum not loving him," he joked, but the sincerity wrought his usually jovial features to a stand-still. "God."

Silence was wonderful with John.

"Where did it all go wrong, hey?" He scoffed. It would have been a throwaway comment had it come from anyone else's mouth. "Three kids, a wife, and a thriving career. I should be bloody over the moon."

In truth, John had only found Linda because he was lonely at the sight of you and Peter. You knew that the moment he brought her out and paraded her around the bar, how awkwardly they kissed, and how he glanced at you as if to say 'look, I have one, too, now, now we're all happy'. She was a bright thing back then. Not so much, now. Sometimes, you wondered if he'd pay to have someone else - someone who'd love him the way he was meant to be loved.

John swirled his drink and drank a bit of it. Just a sip. And, right as you thought he was going to stand, he swept a hand round the back of your neck and kissed you tight. Then, he left without another word.

Since then, all John had done was steal.

When Peter went to the garage to show him the headlight of the Ducati he totalled, John took you on the sofa, sunk his hand into your panties, and got you off in a matter of minutes. He was all hot cum, sweat and fur, nothing half a man like Peter. Snogged you until you came undone and set you straight before Peter could ever know. At dinner parties, whenever he said he didn't have time for board games, you found him in the bathroom and he fucked you against the wall. You bit the flesh of his palm to stop yourself from screaming.

You palmed his cock beneath the dinner table when nobody was looking.

John bent you over in secret, forwards, backwards, twisted you sideways, claimed you from behind, let you ride him as you vented about your day, made you feel him in places you barely knew you had the nerves available there for feeling. He pumped you placidly until you squirted mid-weekend and warmed his face with your cunt in the evening, pulled you taught against his abdomen when you took his cock down your throat, and at the end, instead of chucking the towel into the wash and smothering you so you were quiet, he asked if you were alright, bought you flowers and chocolates, said he was sorry about the baby and promised to have you properly in the next life.

| Masterlist |

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price prepares for his first date with Nik. 141 rib him.

CW: none.

Price stared into the mirror above his sink and wondered when the fuck all those lines on his face had arrived. Last time he’d looked, he could have sworn there were fewer, and there had been no grey either, but now he saw traces of his old man in the reflection and that made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

In all fairness, he didn’t really have much reason to look–really look–at his own face. Even when he was smearing camo around his eyes and down his cheeks, he was only looking for areas of shine that might draw an enemy’s eye. He never really considered why else someone might be lookin’.

Why Nik might be lookin’.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed as he began gathering up his shaving bowl and the badger-fur brush he only got out on special occasions; medal ceremonies, weddings, funerals and now, apparently, bloody dates. Why the fuck he had even agreed to it in the first place he had no idea, but Nik was surprisingly romantic given what Price knew about the rest of his life, and it was difficult to say no when he turned on those eyes. The word ‘no’ felt like booting a Labrador in the face.

Price stashed his shaving kit away and turned back to the mirror to check the rest. He had been pretty sure the shirt he had scrounged from the bottom of his paltry wardrobe hadn’t seen the light of day since the early noughties, and that had been confirmed when he’d pulled it around his shoulders and the buttons had gaped over his chest. Twenty years ago he’d been a lot leaner, but two decades of focused gym sessions, hard graft and being battered in the field had left him with a lot more heft. He’d pulled on a white t-shirt underneath and left it open, hoping he didn't look too much like someone's dad trying to look ten years younger.

Hair waxed into place, beard conditioned, aftershave and cologne–but not enough to register as chemical warfare–and he was as good as he was gonna get. He had never been asked on a date, only ever done the asking, and even then the sum total of his dating efforts as a young man had ended in disaster. Cold fish and chips on the riverfront and getting your leg over in the nearby park, only to fumble that too, wasn’t exactly peak romance, even at fifteen years old, and somehow he didn't think Nik had anything similar in mind.

Fifteen years old. That had been--

Oh, fuck. He was not equipped for this in the slightest.

Price’s phone beeped and a glance at the message confirmed Nik had arrived on base to pick him up. Bang on time too. Price took one final look in the mirror, grimaced, shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck it. It would have to do. Nik had seen him looking like the arse end of a donkey, so this… jitter in Price’s chest felt bloody stupid.

“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he murmured to himself as he snatched his wallet and keys from his bed and shut the door behind him. Unfortunately for Price, the rest of 141 were eagerly awaiting his appearance in the rec room and all looked up when he closed the door. He immediately regretted not exiting through the open window in his room.

“Well, well, cap, don’ ye brush up nice. G’ies a twirl,” Soap said, leaning forward with a wide grin that informed Price he was about to endure a good five to ten minutes of focused ribbing.

“Watch it, MacTavish,” Price replied, but without heat. He felt like a prize twat and this was Soap’s roundabout way of helping.

“Och, c’mon noow,” Soap spread his hands and turned to Garrick for support, “Gaz, back me up…”

Garrick looked up from his phone and tilted his head to the side, clearly evaluating just how much he wanted to chance Price putting him on the worst details for the next week. Apparently, he was feeling pretty fucking lucky that evening. “Pretty sure my dad owns that shirt, Tav. Very… uh, early noughties chic. What d’ya think, Ghost?”

Price could count on Simon to fight his corner against these two reprobates. Or so he thought. Simon leaned back, arms folded across his chest, and examined Price for a beat before choosing violence. “Pretty sure I saw it last about ten years ago,” Simon said, and then shook his head. “Happy to drop a pony on a new striker xt gen 2 so you can have the ranger green as well as the steel grey, but couldn’t cough up a few quid on a new shirt, sir.”

“You’re all bastards, and I you’ll be shovelling the shit next week once I get back to my desk,” Price growled.

A round of groans followed, and Soap rolled up to his feet. “C’mon, sir, we’re just jossin’. As my ol’ nan used tae say: a pritty face suits the dish-cloot.”

“Dish cloth chic,” Gaz said, grinning.

“Ah mean he looks bonnie, right? ‘Side, we need to cut the ol’ man some slack. When was th’ last time ye got tae let yer hair doon, sir?”

“Not long enough,” Price said, pinching the bridge of his nose and planning to beast the trooper delaying Nik at the checkpoint.

“I reckon the last time was when Usher was in the charts. What was the song? Ooh-whoop ooh-whoop, ooh-whoop ooh-whoop, shit, what was it called?”

Price decided that Garrick would be organising a mock dawn raid for the freshest batch of recruits. He would make sure the weather forecast was grim.

“Wait, wait, lemme get it up on Spotify. We c'n get cap in the mood tae drop tha’ thang. Reckon Nik’s an animal on the dancefloor, aye? Ha! Found it. ‘Yeah’ by Usher.”

Soap would be joining Garrick. Full weighted kit.

Price watched as the two sergeants bounced around enthusiastically to a song from 2004 that was, by Price’s estimations, only a year older than the shirt he was currently wearing. Fucking disaster. He looked at Simon, who was watching Johnny with that far away look he always did when he thought no one else would notice.

“You have started the party without me, I see,” said a familiar voice at the door. Price looked over and nearly choked on his own tongue. Nik looked fucking good. White button down open at the collar, black slacks, polished shoes, with his hair freshly cut. Simple, but classy. Price tugged at his sleeve and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping the heat he felt under his skin hadn't translated into a flush.

Nik appraised Price with those same soft eyes that had implored him from the cockpit of his damn helicopter for a date. Price cleared his throat. “You scrub up good, Nik.”

“I could say the same. But you are always the prettiest thing in any room to me, captain.”

Price’s face burned to the very tips of his ears.

“Ah, Nik! Watcha mate, how're you doin’?” Garrick bounded over and threw his arm around Nik’s shoulders for a half hug.

“Ye better have him home by ten!” Soap called from where he stayed slouched on the sofa.

“Of course, sergeant.”

“Nik, let's go, and you lot, get an early night. Pay back's a bitch.”

Nik smiled and stepped aside with what was definitely a bloody half bow to let Price out of the rec room first to a chorus of groans and entreaties for mercy from the two sergeants. Price and Nik emerged into the night air and had almost reached the car before Nik took Price's hand and drew him to a stop. “You are nervous.”

Price cleared his throat, sniffed, and did his best to come off as nonchalant. “Nah, I'm grand, just realised I’ve not got the clobber for this kind of thing, or the, uh… expertise. I'm worried you'll be disappointed.”

Nik looked at him blankly.

“Ah, sorry, my… clothes. It's been a long time since–”

Nik took his chin and lifted his eyes from where they had drifted to the ground. The kiss he placed on Price’s lips was tender, fleeting compared to their first shared under the downdraft of spinning helicopter blades, but it made Price's heart stutter just the same.

“You look good…” Nik released his chin to push both hands into Price’s hair, mussing it out of its careful arrangement. Next, he reached around the back of Price’s belt and tugged his t-shirt free. “Hm, now better.” Price swallowed hard, trying not to be too obvious about inhaling Nik’s scent as he pressed in close.

“Scruffy more like.” Price was still getting over the feeling of Nik’s fingers in his hair, brushing the skin on his back. Nerves had been replaced by the soft thrum of something warm in his chest.

“Nyet. English country boy with rough edges and blue eyes. You are honest, John Price. And a good man. It is what I have always loved most.” Nik opened the car door as Price gawped at him with wide eyes. When his senses had returned, Price realised Nik had rented a nondescript BMW for his stay, with leather interior and a fully digital media system. Plush. “After you.”

“Where’re we goin’?” Price asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Is surprise.”

“Bloody hell, and here I was thinkin' we’d go out for a movie and a pint.”

Nik grinned, tapping the beemer into ‘Drive’. “I will have the captain back before he turns into pumpkin, or the lieutenant mounts a rescue mission.”

Price chuckled as Nik pulled away into the night. Thankfully, Usher didn't feature in the evening‘s itinerary.

[thechaoticcheese]

TW: Blood, Burning, Cutting, Lack of Care for the Reader, Stabbing, Torture

Wrongfully Accused - Chapter 2 - The Afternoon

You wish you could say that you couldn’t feel anything, but every so often you’d feel a slight pain in your right cheek. You kept your eyes shut though, squeezing them tighter whenever you felt that slight slice of pain. You heard one of the guys leave. It was probably Gaz, you knew he couldn’t handle too much body horror, especially when it came to you. He had an iffy stomach whenever it came to gore, which is funny to you due to the job you both have, but that never seems to mentally register when he’s out on the field. You all wore masks when you were on the job. This would be no different.

It felt too long, or maybe too short, when you heard the medic softly say, “Aaaaand we’re good to go!” You hadn’t even paid attention to her putting the patches on your face. The one that was put on the left side covered your eye and cheekbone, you could feel the stickiness from the medical tape used to keep it in place. The one on your right cheek where she grafted from wasn’t as big as you thought. Or maybe it was bigger… You couldn’t tell due to your cheek still being numb, along with your brain. It was still swimming at the situation you were in as you opened your eyes to be greeted with the bright room of the medical bay. Though your brain only registered the room through your right eye. Darkness had filled your left side field of view, your brain quick to block the voided view out. The medic quickly stepped back with slightly bloodied gloves, a friendly smile greeting their lips. Price had returned his eyes to you. He wasn’t looking? Why didn’t he watch? A small flutter in your stomach wondered if he still cared. But that was soon squashed like a mosquito that had just landed on skin as Price stalked over. His face seemed a bit paler than usual, but you only registered that after he yanked you up off of the medical cot.

He couldn’t watch.

The medic let out a squawk of protest, “They need to rest, Price!”

“They can get their damn rest when they've told me what the ‘ell they're plannin’.” He gruffly responded, pushing you forward through the medical bay doorway.

As previously suspected, Gaz had been in the hallway, his back pressed up against the wall, along with the back of his head, his cap’s visor slightly tipping down, like he was trying to not envision what he had just witnessed. His arms still held himself tightly. Gaz’s fingers dug into the scrunched up sleeves of his over shirt that laid just above his elbows. His eyes were shut tight, his teeth bared in a grimace, seeming to hate the situation just as much as you did. Gaz’s eyes soon opened when he heard your’s and Price’s footsteps leave the medical bay. Gaz glanced over at the two of you as Price shoved you out. You didn't register what the medic was arguing due to the sheer hurt and despair you could see in Gaz’s eyes.

He still cared.

Gaz hated seeing you hurt and would fuss over the smallest of scrapes, especially since you were known to get a few on your hands on base every so often. You always made it even though, behaving the same exact same way. Your heart warmed, remembering the nights you would kiss each other's wounds and scars. Though the thought was interrupted as Price shoved you back to the present.

“Fuckin’ move, don't gawk.” He growled. You glanced back at Gaz sorrowfully. His expression stayed as he tried to adjust to the sight of you before following behind his superior. Price forcefully moved your head to face forward, your neck aching and screaming at his forceful action, his hand gripping your hair tightly. The flicker of love that was in your heart just got stomped out.

“Face. Forward.” His angered tone graced your ears. Your body shivered as you let yourself be forced to lead the way to the interrogation rooms. While you've only been in there a few times to put someone in or take them out, you've never stayed to see just how bad the rooms looked. You didn't want to. Nor did you want to witness an interrogation, haven seen the aftermath. But now you were forced to sit in the white metal chair. Its paint peeled off to show rust covered metal, presumably from the blood spilled on it. You couldn’t tell if it was the rust or blood stains that set an off-white tones around the patches of missing paint. Though you were glad that your pants covered your legs, feeling sharp metal bits try to dig into your skin. You didn’t know what caused the metal legs to have such sharp protrusions, and you didn’t want to learn who did it. You knew what they’d be used for and it made you stiffen.

Gaz wasn't allowed in, that, or he just didn't enter. So it was just you and Price. Your right eye looked up at him fearfully. Dread made your body quiver. You decided to give an attempt to speak.

“Price-”

“Why the fuck did you think you could hide this?” He interrupted, demanding an answer as his gloved hand gripped the back of the chair tightly. He tilted the chair back ever so slightly to make your body freak out and convince you that you were falling. You jolted as your body confirmed that it was still supported. You winced, feeling the metal from the chair now threateningly tease your skin, having ripped holes into your pant legs when you jolted for stability.

“I'm… I’m not hiding it, Price. I'm not the spy... I… I promise.” You insisted with a shaky breath.

“I have reliable resources.” Price countered as his face got closer. His eyes were hard and demanding for the truth.

You remembered when they were soft, caring. But those days are gone now.

“Well what have I done then?” You demanded to know. What did his reliable source tell him of your supposed bad deeds?

“What else are spies good for other than spreading intel and passin’ enemy lines to sabotage operations, supplies and machines? I shouldn't ‘ave to tell you the carnage you brought on my men.” Price spat in hatred as you held his gaze with your uncovered eye.

“That's a good point.” You agreed, as if trying to reason with him. But that wasn't you and you both knew it, or at least you hoped he did. “But I'm not that. You've trained me, Price. You know that I wouldn't hurt these people.” Your voice started to show hints of a begging tone, needing him to see the error of the accusation brought against you. It didn’t seem to get through to him though. You soon gasped for air after Price’s fist met your stomach, making the air evacuate your lungs. Your inhales were raspy and your exhales were coughs as your body recovered from the physical assault.

“P… Price…” You wheezed out, pleadingly looking up at him, but his eyes were cold, unfeeling. You weren’t talking to the man you knew. This was business, and you were at the bad end of a deal.

The next hours were a blur. The demands to know your plans, to know what you’ve told the enemy, if there were any other spies on base. You didn’t know. How could you? You weren’t the spy. A cry of pain came from you as Price took your shins and jammed your calves into the metal sticking out from the chair. Pain pulsed at the puncture sights as you gritted your teeth. Tears fell from both eyes, but the bandages on the left side of your face soaked them up. The tears fell freely out of your right eye though, running down your cheek, but the bandage on that side started to soak up some of the salty water too. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” You repeated over and over again as Price screamed back at you. “I KNOW YOU BLOODY DID! STOP LYING!” The repugnance was clear in his loud booming voice. It shook your head. It cracked your brain. It shattered your soul. “I didn’t!” You argued through the pain, through the tears that moistened your bandages, but there was no getting through to him. You don’t remember how or when it happened, but you were now face down on the ground, your eyes shut tight as the right side of your face was squished into the floor. One of Price’s hands ruthlessly gripped your hair, pinning your head down. In his other hand was a knife. You knew this was a knife he always kept sharp. After every mission you would remember him reminding people to clean and sharpen their blade if they used it. Even the threat of a cut sliced open your skin due to its sharp blade. He was pressing it against your forearm, slowly bringing it up. “Tell me what you know.” His threatening growl echoed in your ear as hot blood soon met the thick air around the two of you. It ran down your skin, meeting the light russet stained concrete with a non noticeable drip. Though the flow wasn’t fast, no, it was slow. Painful. Price had practice with this technique and you felt bad for anyone before and after you who would be exposed to the same treatment.

“I don’t know anything.” You gasped out from your sobbing. A growl came from Price before you felt a sharp pain shoot through your arm. The Captain was showing restraint before, but now his trusty knife was piercing into your arm. He was done being nice, if you could call this nice. “I-I swear!” You pleaded as more tears left your eyes, your saliva starting to leave the corner of your mouth as your heart felt like it was about to explode out of your throat. Your chest was heaving with the air you so desperately tried to get in through your desperate pants. The pain in your arm was too much, despite having painkillers in your system, they didn’t seem to be doing anything. Was Price just that good? Or did the medic give you some sort of placebo? It didn’t matter. Your arm ached as it begged to have the sharp metal object removed. “I don’t… I don’t know anything…” You wept. Your wheezing breath and sobbing filled the room as Price kept you pinned to the ever growing cold floor. The concrete felt like it was sucking out all the heat from your body. You were in pain, you were scared, and hunger just started to set in. You didn’t eat this morning. How late was it?

“P… Price… Price please… Believe me…” You tried to plead again, your voice strained as your throat started to become sore from your cries of agony.

Price was silent, you could hear him thinking, before you heard the flick of a lighter. You tensed, expecting to feel it against your skin, but there was nothing. Not yet at least. The smell of smoke soon graced your nostrils, filling your sense of smell with cigar smoke. Here? Of all places? Price was smoking? That’s when you felt it.

Price removed the knife quickly and crushed the lit part of the cigar into the wound after taking in a long drag. You bared your teeth to try to withstand the pain, gasping before yelling out, pressing your face against the concrete. Your body tried to jolt away, but the handcuffs helped keep your arm from moving away from Price’s way to make you talk. His knee jabbing into your back to help keep you still as well. It would’ve made you talk, if you only had answers. You were honest, always, but damn did this make you want to lie. Though you knew it would be so damn hard to lie and get away with it. Especially if it puts people’s lives at risk. You could hear him breathe out the smoke before his cold voice asked, “You wanna keep feeling this pain or do ya wanna tell me what you’re plannin’?” Price’s dead tone was breaking you. You couldn’t. You couldn’t do this anymore. Damn… Those interrogation trainings were useless against people you care… No… Cared for. You shook your head, the bandage starting to threaten to come off your right cheek as your skin gently scraped the unfriendly concrete.

“Suit yourself.” Price said plainly with a shrug, bringing the cigar back up, flicking the lighter once more to reignite it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I actually gagged when writing about Price sticking his cigar in the wound holy cow. Anyways! Let me know if y'all wanna be tagged in the next chapter and if there should be any other warnings that I might've miss.

Inspire by this post.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

[beraberblog]

ESTHETİCHAİRMEXİCO - DRAGON+ (5)

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[haine-kleine]

a slightly surrealistic take on why the Dabi is never around:

when Touya was still in coma, AFO didn't let go of his plan to prepare the boy as his future vessel. the state of his body allowed AFO to take more risks with him, and thus he gave Touya an experimental quirk he engineered, one that could give him Yoichi back. the quirk can take the user to the alternate universe where his greatest desire is fulfilled, while still keeping them tethered to their original reality, allowing to freely move between the worlds if they so desire.

when Touya woke up from the coma and ran back home, the shock of what he saw there had activated his new quirk. he is thirteen again. he is also the only son of Todoroki Enji, Fuyumi is now his only sibling. his hair is red again, like it used to be, like it always was supposed to be, and he doesn't burn anymore, the grotesque skin grafts only an uncomfortable memory. his father looks at him with such pride it takes Touya's breath away. he got so used to having to beg for sideway glances from his dad, like the very sight of Touya makes him ashamed. this new world is a dream come true, everything he ever wanted put directly into his palms. his body does not betray him, his father entrusted his dream to him, his heir, his only heir, his mother and sister supporting him instead of turning away from him.

and then he remembers Shouto. little Shouto, who was born perfect, born to replace him. he remembers attacking him when he was just a baby. he was so little then, and he vividly recalls the burning hatred that consumed him, how much he wanted Shouto, that perfect thing, gone.

Shouto was never born in this world. as Touya thrives in this dreamlike reality, he can't help thinking about the missing parts. did his dream kill Shouto? did it kill Natsuo? is he worse than the father he left behind in that horrible world, the father that made children like objects to be used? the more he thinks about it, the less enjoyable this new world becomes to him. his mother, who looks at him and at Enji with such open fondness, his sister who is his best friend now, who proudly tells her classmates about her brother, who is training to become the greatest hero, his father who doesn't even seem like the same man he had been chasing for nine years. his own selfish happiness. is all of that worth the price two little boys paid for it? is he truly so self centered to think his happiness is more important than the lives of his own brothers? had his father not stopped him, would he have actually killed little Shouto?

as he starts dwelling on this more and more, missing his little brothers, fixating on the guilt of erasing them from existence by proxy of being born the 'right way', he activates the quirk again. in the new universe he is 10 years old, and as soon as he sees Natsuo he bursts into tears. his little brother worriedly asks what father did this time, and Touya can't form any reply, pulling Natsuo in a tight hug. this is the first time Natsuo's brother has hugged him. later, when Touya calms down enough to stop squeezing Natsuo like he's going to disappear, the boys leave their shared room. what Touya sees next doesn't make any sense.

'Touya-nii, Natsu-nii, let's play!' a tiny boy with a gap toothed smile and rosy cheeks holds out a ball to them.

Shouto had never been allowed to step foot in the hall on this side of the building. father never allowed them to even look at each other directly. Touya's breath catches in his throat, his heart starting to beat rapidly. he hears the loud footsteps that are about to be followed by screaming, why did Shouto think this was a good idea to come here-

then the real Enji passes them by, reminding Shouto about the afternoon training, ruffling Touya's hair on his way to leave.

if the previous world was a dream come true, this one is extremely confusing.

eventually he learns that the difference here is that he had never attacked Shouto, and his father had never isolated his youngest brother from the rest of the siblings. all four of the Todoroki children are allowed to spend time together. remembering the heavy weight Natsuo and Shouto's absence put on his chest in the previous world, he decides to let go. it was him who wanted all of his siblings, and he already got to live his dream once. his vulnerability to fire is back, and the memory of burning alive is suddenly a vivid nightmare keeping him up at night. he looks at his mother's calm, relaxed face, as she watches a movie with the children. he thinks back to the stitched up, unfamiliar face he saw looking back at him in the hospital mirror. he thinks back to Fuyumi-chan's words, from when they were little. she doesn't want to see him hurt. he doesn't want to be hurt either. is it really so bad to let go? he glances at his family. Shouto is snoring his icy snot bubble with his head on their mother's knees. Natsuo is gripping Touya's shirt tightly, pushing his head into his shoulder, pretending he is not crying about the sentimental scene that is happening on the screen. Fuyumi is invested in the movie, but after hearing Touya's snort glances at their younger brothers and exchanges a grin with him. the calmness he feels here is like a warm blanket, the comfort such a faraway memory he had almost forgotten this feeling. would it really be so bad to let go and enjoy it?...

he wakes up once again. he is not at home and he is alone this time. 'wake up, sleepyhead', ghosts of children whisper to him, and the dread starts to sink in. he is back in his original world, the garish scars on his whole body as stark as he remembers them. he learns that two years have passed since he woke up from coma. he is no longer a middle schooler, Todoroki Enji's heir training to become the number one hero, nor a ten years old boy surrounded by an accepting and caring family. he is an adult, covered in self inflicted scars, with nowhere to go to. he feels like a child who had his candy taken away. it's so unfair! were those worlds just dreams his sick mind hallucinated while he was in another coma, and who on earth had been taking care of him this time?

this sends him back to the first alternate universe. he is back to being Enji's pride, separated from his brothers.

this goes on for a long time, as he clumsily learns to control this world travelling quirk. he spends as much time as possible in the two worlds, using them to escape the progressively glaring reality of the time slipping through his fingers, becoming a disfigured homeless adult having to fend for himself. on a particularly nasty night, his hunger and loneliness equally suffocating, he decides to come back home. if being away from his family is the main problem, then he can simply come back, can't he? maybe, if he stayed when he came back for the first time, if he didn't start crying and ran away from the sight of his father training his youngest brother in his place, if he revealed himself, they would have accepted him like they did in the second world. he misses the comforting chill of his mother's touch. he misses his father, the memories of the monster who beat his mother and his youngest son drifting away in the mess of the conflicting memories he made as a world traveler. he looks down at his reflection in the muddy puddle, the street lights painting his rough features red. he takes a deep breath, and heads in the direction of the Todoroki mansion.

he doesn't even get past the gate before Endeavor's sidekick almost arrests him. Enji joins in to the chase, and the cold derisive detachment his father looks at him makes him stumble. he escapes on pure adrenaline, overexerting his quirk and nearly burning both of his arms off. this is how he meets Giran. this is when he decides to stay in this world permanently. even if it feels like being thrown out from heaven straight to hell, he can't indulge in this escapism anymore, wasting the years he has left in the real world. he has to steel himself and make do with the life he has in this world, separated from his family. Todoroki Touya was left behind in the past, in other worlds, a faraway concept buried by time and space and impossibility of his existence, stretched thin between three different lives.

***

Dabi is a very weird individual. it’s a commonly accepted opinion in the League of Villains, a group consisting exclusively of weird individuals.

Shigaraki won’t tell this to anyone, but the initial reason he let Dabi join, let him stay, despite his rudeness and open lack of interest in his, his leader's case, is because the man is a mystery, one even his Sensei is fascinated with. when he disappears without any warning for the first time, Shigaraki uses all of his resources to try and track Dabi, to punish him for his betrayal. a week goes by, and he turns to Sensei with a humble request for help. his Sensei doesn't even appear angry with his failure, informs him that Dabi is going to be impossible to find until he allows himself to be. Shigaraki knows that Dabi has a fire quirk, how is this possible? does he have an ally who will hide him with their quirk? but even Giran didn’t know where the man disappeared to, didn’t crack even when Shigaraki made Twice, the sweet unassuming man he knew Giran trusted, contact him asking for help with locating Dabi. he ponders this, scratching viciously at his neck (Kurogiri pulls his hands away), and the look on his Sensei’s face, an almost gleeful smile, the proud tone of his voice, make him stop.

does Dabi actually have two quirks?..

***

despite the common notion, Toga is not actually the harebrained cutesy teenage girl that she pretends to be. what she is, is a good judge of character, and a very good actor. it takes one to know one, and she cracks Dabi’s mask before she even learns the man’s name. everything about him feels artificial. she knows Shigaraki and Spinner are pissed at him for not being serious about the League of Villains. she feels Dabi isn’t serious about anything. the more time she spends around him, the more she feels like she is interacting with a very bad actor who landed a role he never wanted to participate in. when he is not active on villain duty, it’s like he isn’t sure what his script should be, hiding behind his phone most of the time.

 still, when Shigaraki throws his second tantrum because Dabi came back after two weeks of no contact, she finds the sulking man hiding from everyone in the garage.

“you should learn to be a better actor, if you want to pull your thing off”, she tells him in a serious voice. it’s their first serious interaction, and Toga feels like a predator stalking her prey. no matter how much Dabi shows off his scars and throws insults around, he can’t hide the fast pumping of his heart. she allows herself to look at him, really look at him at him, and she finds that his glittery blue eyes don’t belong on his face. his eyes are too honest, too open, raw emotion presented like an open book. after a long moment of silent eye contact, he slumps in defeat, hugging his knees and making such forlorn sight that Toga almost feels bad for him.

“i will, just don't tell on me”.

no one is sure how old Dabi actually is, his voice so raspy it could belong to a serial smoker or to an old man, his face too damaged by the scars to make any age lines identifiable, but sometimes the things he says, the tone of his voice, make Toga think of a boy, rather than a man.

[herkonular]

SAPPHİREHAİRCLİNİC - DEVASA+

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[vi-writes-things]

Piece of Mind

By Vivian B

———————

Kira furrowed her brow, not entirely sure she understood the customer correctly.

“I’m sorry, what would you like, ma’am?”

“Just a finger”

“Only a finger?”

“Yes…”

Kira stared at the customer; a tallish woman, blonde hair sitting around the shoulders. She looked more or less like an average, if slightly upper class, customer that Piece of Mind would see.

———

Ever since the Anatomical Exchanging and Modifying Act was passed, anybody could now use technology to enhance themselves legally and without taxation (taxing the use of technology in this way was apparently more of a debate than anything the ‘god made man in his image’ crowd could come up with). funds were made available, scientists and engineers got to work, and pretty soon Bio-Enhancing services were cropping up all over Neo-Terra and all of its satellite colonies and dominions.

The sentiment behind the act was to ensure everybody could have a body they could be proud of, that wouldn’t hurt them physically or psychologically. No longer were the circumstances of birth something to either begrudgingly accept or try to deal with.

It should’ve been a utopia of bodily autonomy.

And then the finance bros jumped in and created franchises.

———

Kira searched through the anatomical databases… they had arms, forearms, shoulders(?), hands, muscles, tendons, veins, arteries, nerves, skin-grafting and even the growth rate of nails.

They had no fingers.

Kira should’ve told the customer that they didn’t provide services for fingers, that they could provide hands at the very least. She didn’t want to draw the ire of the boss, however…

‘IF I HEAR ONE MORE CUSTOMER HAS BEEN TURNED AWAY BECAUSE OF SOME BULLSHIT EXCUSE, YOU’RE ALL FIRED!!!!!’ screamed the angry post-it note on the wall of the break room. The manager, Jones, had left it there after one very drunk customer tried to fight Mathide when they refused to administer breast augmentation to his less than enthused spouse. After several holes punched in the wall, Jones had reluctantly decided not to fire them, just dock a week out of their pay…

Kira couldn’t afford to lose money or get fired. She was so close to finally being able to afford a full-body enhancement. She was this close to freeing herself of the body she was born in and becoming herself…

“I’m afraid we don’t have fingers only in our database…” Kira cautiously explained to the customer. “I’m going to have to consult with my colleague…” she said before nodding her head apologetically. The customer seemed to understand, or at least not scoff at the fact Piece of Mind thought about nerve endings and veins, but not fingers.

———

“Just a finger?” Mathide asked, their furry brow raised.

“That’s what she wants…” Kira sighed, massaging her temples. If she had known this problem would come up today, she wouldn’t have sampled the margarita mix gifted to her last night.

“Who the hell wants just a finger changed?” Mathide scoffed, reaching a paw for their coffee. It tasted godawful, but instant usually does. “Not even, like, the hand… just a finger?”

“She said there’s a wart she doesn’t like…” Kira responded. “Apparently getting it frozen off never crossed her mind. I can’t just refuse her, Jones will skin us alive when he gets back from Titan…”

Mathide took a sip of the coffee, their fur standing on end. Too hot…

“But it’s a finger! What does a finger even cost?!”

“Well we know a hand costs 500 credits…” Kira said, trying to do the math in her head. “We just divide that by 6 I suppose…”

“Shouldn’t the size of the finger come into play? You know how much Jones haggles people…” Mathide said.

“Since when did you care what Jones would do?” Kira chuckled darkly, dodging the empty cup thrown at her expertly.

“So we divide 500 by 6, and charge her that?”

“Sounds like the best way to go forward.”

Mathide looked at their phone and crunched the numbers. “That’s 83.33 credits…” they said with a frown.

“Great, so that’s the price we charge.” Kira said, bending down to look at the calculator. A primitive part of her reckoned standing next to Mathide would make the numbers make sense.

“But the cheapest thing we offer is altering the growth rate of nails…” Mathide explained. “That’s 90 credits. Jones wanted to charge even more but a creditcent more and that would be illegal extortion.”

“Well we don’t have much of a choice. That fucker didn’t even think about what a finger would cost…” Kira sighed. This was the last thing she needed. “Either way, Jones will kill us…”

Mathide looked up at Kira standing over them. They could sense she was stressed. Their tail involuntarily curled around her ankle gently. It was the least they could do as a friend.

Kira smiled in return. She gave Mathide a ruffle of their ears before turning to face the door.

“Need a hand?” Mathide asked, standing up. Despite being a cat hybrid, Mathide had an excellent way with customers.

“Thanks” Kira said as the two of them emerged from the break room.

———

The procedure went surprisingly smoothly for such a hassle. The atomic replacer machine was calibrated to a hand, but the customer was asked to place only the finger into the slot. The machine could recognise what body parts were placed inside so there was no risk of the finger being replaced by a small second hand.

As Kira oversaw the procedure, she felt a pang inside her. A kind of heavy feeling that clung to her heart. People like this lady could come in for something as trivial as a finger and pay as if it was pocket change. Bodies were as valuable as toilet roll to them.

Not to Kira, though. She spent 26 years being stuck in a body she never asked for. She wasn’t skilled enough to build a machine for herself that wouldn’t blow her up or turn her into soup.

Mathide got lucky. They had a friend who was an expert biohacker. They were able to hook Mathide up with their dream body. Unfortunately, that friend left for Androma a long time ago, and Kira still had nerves about going to the unregulated biohackers, despite Mathide’s reassurances.

For now, all she could do was bide her time, watch more rich assholes get custom made fingers…

[hevahaircareblog]

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[transgenderer]

I tried not to think of these so lately baptized kinsmen, of the price paid for them, or the peculiar price they themselves would pay, and said nothing about my father, who having taken his own conversion too literally never, at bottom, forgave the white world (which he described as heathen) for having saddled him with a Christ in whom, to judge at least from their treatment of him, they themselves no longer believed. I thought of white men arriving for the first time in an African village, strangers there, as I am a stranger here, and tried to imagine the astounded populace touching their hair and marveling at the color of their skin. But there is a great difference between being the first white man to be seen by Africans and being the first black man to be seen by whites. The white man takes the astonishment as tribute, for he arrives to conquer and to convert the natives, whose inferiority in relation to himself is not even to be questioned; whereas I, without a thought of conquest, find myself among a people whose culture controls me, has even, in a sense, created me, people who have cost me more in anguish and rage than they will ever know, who yet do not even know of my existence. The astonishment, with which I might have greeted them, should they have stumbled into my African village a few hundred years ago, might have rejoiced their hearts. But the astonishment with which they greet me today can only poison mine.

And this is so despite everything I may do to feel differently, despite my friendly conversations with the bistro owner's wife, despite their three-year-old son who has at last become my friend, despite the saluts and bonsoirs which I exchange with people as I walk, despite the fact that I know that no individual can be taken to task for what history is doing, or has done. I say that the culture of these people controls me-but they can scarcely be held responsible for European culture. America comes out of Europe, but these people have never seen America, nor have most of them seen more of Europe than the hamlet at the foot of their mountain. Yet they move with an authority which I shall never have; and they regard me, quite rightly, not only as a stranger in the village but as a suspect latecomer, bearing no credentials, to everything they have-however unconsciously-inherited.

For this village, even were it incomparably more remote and incredibly more primitive, is the West, the West onto which I have been so strangely grafted. These people cannot be, from the point of view of power, strangers anywhere in the world; they have made the modem world, in effect, even if they do not know it. The most illiterate among them is related, in away that I am not, to Dante, Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Aeschylus, Da Vinci, Rembrandt, and Racine; the cathedral at Chartres says something to them which it cannot say to me, as indeed would New York's Empire State Building, should anyone here ever see it. Out of their hymns and dances come Beethoven and Bach. Go back a few centuries and they are in their full glory-but I am in Africa, watching the conquerors arrive.

-James Baldwin, Stranger in the Village

I feel like what Baldwin is trying to communicate here is supposed to be self-evident, so he doesn't argue for it, but from my position it feels...extremely non self evident! this idea, that there is some...natural identification between swiss villagers and Dante, Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Aeschylus, Da Vinci, Rembrandt, and the same natural identification maps baldwin to men in an african village getting conquered, its stated but its not justified. i mean, it feels pretty cringe every time i bring it up but like...as someone descended from african slaves (and from europeans of course, as almost surely baldwin was), it feels kind of intensely obvious to me that there is no such natural identification? you can choose an identification, and you may be *externally controlled* by such an identification, but you dont have to believe in such an identification! and in fact you shouldn't, because it isnt true

a possibly unrelated note: later in the essay, he claims that african slaves in america "could not suppose, for one thing, as slaves in past epochs had supposed and often done, that he would ever be able to wrest the power from his master's hands". but like...there were lots of american slave uprisings! hundreds! surely baldwin knows this. it seems to me a sort of...national myth-writing? the essay is about identity. its hard to write a coherent national myth of the black american centered on violent resistance by slaves, because it didnt end up freeing them. so you instead write the myth based on persistence through suffering without visible end?

i think its likely im failing to understand him, but im not sure how to get from here to there

[roycompro]

What Are the Risks and Benefits of Getting a Hair Transplant in Turkey vs. the UK?

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 1. Cost Differences: UK vs. Turkey

When comparing costs, hair transplant UK cost vs Turkey shows a significant difference. In the UK, prices for hair transplants typically range between £5,000 and £15,000, depending on the number of grafts and the clinic. These higher costs are often attributed to strict regulations, quality control, and high operational expenses.

In Turkey, however, hair transplants are notably more affordable, with prices generally between £1,500 and £4,000. Turkey’s lower operational expenses, combined with a highly competitive hair restoration industry, have made it a global hub for affordable hair transplants. This price difference allows patients on a budget to access high-quality hair restoration services, provided they select a reputable clinic.

Risk: While Turkey offers lower prices, some clinics may cut corners to keep costs down, leading to a risk of subpar quality or compromised patient care. It’s essential to thoroughly research Turkish clinics, especially if they advertise extremely low prices.

Benefit: For patients who are budget-conscious, Turkey provides an opportunity to undergo a high-quality procedure at a fraction of the cost in the UK. Many Turkish clinics offer all-inclusive packages covering flights, accommodation, and post-op care, making it a convenient choice for international patients.

 2. Surgeons’ Expertise and Clinic Standards

In the UK, clinics must meet strict regulations and quality standards, often with surgeons who have specific qualifications in dermatology, plastic surgery, or hair restoration. This adherence to professional standards is ensured by bodies like the British Association of Hair Restoration Surgery (BAHRS) or the Care Quality Commission (CQC), which promote patient safety and best practices in surgical procedures.

Turkey, on the other hand, is known for a high volume of hair transplants, with many clinics and surgeons specializing exclusively in this area. While many Turkish surgeons are highly experienced, the healthcare regulation system is more lenient compared to the UK. Thus, while top-tier Turkish clinics maintain exceptional quality, there is a range of standards across clinics in Turkey.

Risk: Patients may encounter variability in surgeon qualifications and clinic standards in Turkey. Clinics with less-experienced surgeons or lax quality control measures could result in inconsistent results.

Benefit: Turkey’s focus on hair transplants means many clinics employ highly skilled, specialized surgeons who have performed thousands of procedures. In the UK, the regulatory standards add an extra layer of assurance, particularly for those who value stringent quality control.

 3. Patient Volume and Personalization of Care

UK clinics often limit the number of patients they see each day to ensure personalized attention and high-quality care. With lower patient volumes, patients benefit from one-on-one consultations, individualized treatment plans, and detailed post-operative support. This approach aligns with the higher costs associated with UK clinics, as patients receive attentive care throughout the process.

Turkey, due to its popularity and affordability, generally treats more patients daily. Some clinics may handle 20 to 30 patients in a single day, focusing on efficiency and providing lower-cost packages. While this allows for cost savings, high patient volume can sometimes reduce the level of personalization patients receive. That said, many top-tier clinics in Turkey limit daily patient numbers to ensure quality.

Risk: High patient volumes at some Turkish clinics may lead to less personalized care, as doctors and medical teams have limited time for each patient.

Benefit: In both the UK and Turkey, choosing a reputable clinic that prioritizes individualized attention and lower patient volumes can mitigate this risk. Turkish clinics with small patient groups still offer personalized care at a more affordable price point.

 4. Aftercare and Follow-Up Support

Aftercare is a critical aspect of hair transplant success, affecting healing and the final outcome. UK clinics often offer comprehensive aftercare services, including regular follow-ups, post-op care consultations, and accessible support for any questions or complications that may arise during the recovery period.

Turkish clinics provide detailed aftercare instructions, and many high-quality clinics offer post-op services in collaboration with international partners or through telemedicine. However, follow-up appointments after returning home may be limited unless the patient arranges for additional care locally.

Risk: For patients traveling from the UK to Turkey, aftercare support might be less accessible once they return home, particularly if the clinic does not offer international post-op services.

Benefit: UK patients who select a Turkish clinic offering thorough post-op instructions, and potentially telemedicine follow-up options, can still achieve successful aftercare. Some Turkish clinics even offer partnerships with UK-based providers to support aftercare needs.

 5. Potential Language Barriers and Communication

In the UK, all communication, from the initial consultation to post-op instructions, is conducted in English. This ensures that patients fully understand the procedure, risks, and aftercare requirements, which can reduce anxiety and promote a more transparent experience.

In Turkey, most reputable clinics are accustomed to international patients and provide multilingual staff or translators, particularly for English-speaking patients. However, some patients may encounter communication issues, especially in clinics without dedicated English-speaking coordinators.

Risk: Language barriers could impact the patient’s understanding of the procedure and aftercare if the clinic does not provide adequate translation services.

Benefit: By selecting a clinic in Turkey that offers English-speaking support staff, patients can ensure clear communication throughout the process, from consultation to aftercare.

 6. Results and Quality of Outcomes

The ultimate goal of a hair transplant is a natural, long-lasting result. Both UK and Turkish clinics are capable of delivering excellent outcomes, provided they are well-established and employ experienced surgeons. In the UK, high regulatory standards and patient-focused care can contribute to a higher likelihood of consistent, high-quality results.

Turkish clinics, particularly those with experienced teams and advanced technology, also achieve excellent results. Many clinics in Turkey specialize exclusively in hair transplants, leading to well-honed skills and advanced techniques. However, the wide range of clinic quality in Turkey means outcomes can vary more significantly than in the UK.

Risk: Selecting a low-cost or high-volume clinic in Turkey could lead to lower-quality outcomes, including issues like unnatural hairlines or uneven graft placement.

Benefit: Choosing a reputable clinic, regardless of location, with a proven track record and qualified surgeons can yield high-quality, natural-looking results. Turkish clinics with specialized expertise in hair transplants often achieve exceptional results at a more affordable price than UK clinics.

 Making an Informed Decision

When it comes to deciding between a hair transplant in the UK or Turkey, both options have their distinct benefits and potential risks.

- Choose the UK if you value strict regulation, consistent post-op support, and high-quality personalization. The higher cost reflects the quality standards, experienced staff, and stringent healthcare requirements, making it a suitable choice for those who prioritize these factors.

- Choose Turkey if you seek an affordable yet high-quality option, and are comfortable researching clinics to find one with a reputation for quality and personalized care. By selecting a well-established Turkish clinic that specializes in hair restoration, patients can benefit from expert care without the high price tag typically associated with UK procedures.

Conclusion: The choice between a UK and Turkey hair transplant ultimately depends on your priorities in cost, care, and support. With careful consideration of the pros and cons of each option, and a focus on selecting a reputable clinic, you can confidently make a decision that best aligns with your needs and expectations.

About Us

Capital Hair Restoration is the leading provider of both surgical and non-surgical hair restoration consultation services in London and throughout the UK. With over 20 years of experience in the hair restoration industry, we guarantee to provide you with the most suitable treatment plan for you. This will enable you to feel confident in the appearance of your hair, both in the short term and long into the future.

Website - https://www.capitalhairrestoration.co.uk/

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Uncovering the Truth Behind Hair Transplant: Is It Really Painless?

The thought of undergoing any form of surgery can evoke concerns about pain and discomfort, and for many, this fear becomes a roadblock in pursuing treatments like hair transplants. However, is this fear truly applicable to hair transplant procedures, particularly since they are minimally invasive? This blog aims to uncover whether hair transplants are genuinely painless and ease the concerns of individuals suffering from hair loss.

Advances in Hair Transplant Techniques

Medical advancements have significantly improved the comfort of many surgical procedures, and hair transplants are no exception. Today’s hair restoration techniques have evolved to be far more refined than earlier methods, resulting in less discomfort during and after the procedure. Hair transplant surgeries involve taking healthy hair follicles from one part of the head and relocating them to areas experiencing thinning or balding.

At Cutibless, we focus on the Follicular Unit Extraction (FUE) technique, which is known for being minimally invasive and virtually painless. The FUE method involves extracting individual hair follicles from the donor area and transplanting them into the recipient area, offering natural-looking results with minimal downtime.

Why Bangalore is an Emerging Hub for Hair Transplants

Bangalore is fast becoming a prominent destination for hair transplants, and it is known for offering world-class procedures at competitive prices. As a bustling metropolitan city, Bangalore boasts some of the finest clinics and experts, making it an ideal location for individuals seeking hair restoration solutions.

At Cutibless, we provide cutting-edge treatments designed to restore your hair and confidence with a focus on client comfort and satisfaction. With advanced technology and skilled professionals, Cutibless ensures that every patient receives a personalized and painless hair transplant experience.

Hair Restoration Procedure Overview

A hair transplant is a minor elective procedure that aims to conceal baldness or enhance features such as hairline, beard, or eyebrows. The procedure typically takes between 5 to 8 hours, depending on the number of grafts required. Below is an outline of the process at Cutibless:

Local Anesthesia: Administered to the donor and recipient areas, ensuring a pain-free procedure.

Hair Graft Harvesting: Hair follicles are carefully extracted from the donor area, usually at the back of the scalp.

Incision Making: Small, precise incisions are made in the recipient area.

Graft Implantation: The hair follicles are meticulously implanted into the thinning or balding areas.

Post-Care Instructions: After the procedure, you’ll receive detailed instructions on aftercare to promote healing and optimal results.

Is Hair Transplant Painful?

One of the most common concerns about hair transplants is the potential for pain. The good news is that with advancements in local anesthesia and the FUE method, hair transplants are not painful. At Cutibless, local anesthesia is applied, ensuring that you feel no pain throughout the procedure. The only slight discomfort may come from the initial injections, which feel like tiny pricks similar to a pinching sensation.

Most patients report feeling comfortable during the process, and any post-surgical discomfort is mild and short-lived. Swelling, itching, or numbness in the treated areas is expected but typically resolves within a few days. The use of local anesthesia ensures that the entire hair transplant experience is smooth and stress-free.

How to Make the Procedure More Comfortable?

At Cutibless, we go the extra mile to ensure our patients have a pleasant experience. We use advanced anesthetic techniques that allow for a single, long-lasting administration, reducing the need for repeated injections. This ensures minimal discomfort during and after the procedure, and you can rest assured that the entire process is tailored to your comfort.

Post-Procedure Experience and Pain Management

While hair transplantation is a minimally invasive procedure, some post-operative side effects such as slight swelling, itching, or numbness may occur. These symptoms are manageable and temporary. We provide a detailed aftercare plan, which includes medications and tips to alleviate any discomfort during the recovery phase.

Most patients can return to their normal activities within a day, with noticeable results becoming visible over the following months as hair grows in the treated areas.

Ensuring a Smooth, Pain-Free Experience

To ensure the best hair transplant experience, it is important to choose a qualified clinic with experienced surgeons who specialize in the latest techniques. At Cutibless, we prioritize patient satisfaction and results, providing personalized consultations to address individual concerns. By selecting a skilled professional and following proper aftercare instructions, you can look forward to a painless and rewarding hair restoration journey.

Conclusion

Hair transplants are a transformative solution for hair loss, and thanks to advanced techniques, they are virtually painless. With the right clinic and skilled professionals, you can experience minimal discomfort while achieving natural and lasting results. For those looking to restore their hair and confidence, Cutibless offers world-class treatments in Bangalore, with a focus on patient comfort and satisfaction.

Don’t let the fear of pain hold you back — take the first step towards hair restoration today at Cutibless, Bangalore’s trusted name in hair transplants.

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The Cost of Hair Transplant in the UK A Comprehensive Guide

Introduction Hair loss is a common issue that affects millions of people worldwide. In the UK, hair transplant procedures have become increasingly popular as a solution to hair loss. However, the cost of these procedures can vary widely, and understanding the factors that influence these costs is crucial for anyone considering a hair transplant. This article provides a comprehensive guide to the hair transplant costs UK, exploring the various factors that affect pricing, the different types of procedures available, and tips for choosing the right clinic and surgeon.

Factors Influencing the Cost of Hair Transplants Several factors can influence the cost of a hair transplant in the UK. These include:

Type of Procedure: The two most common types of hair transplant procedures are Follicular Unit Transplantation (FUT) and Follicular Unit Extraction (FUE). FUE is generally more expensive than FUT because it is more time-consuming and requires more skill and precision.

Number of Grafts: The number of grafts required significantly impacts the cost. More extensive hair loss requires more grafts, leading to higher costs.

Surgeon's Experience and Reputation: Highly experienced and reputable surgeons typically charge more for their services. However, their expertise can ensure better results, which may justify the higher cost.

Clinic Location: The location of the clinic can also affect the cost. Clinics in major cities like London tend to be more expensive than those in smaller towns.

Technology and Equipment: Clinics that use the latest technology and equipment may charge more for their services. Advanced technology can improve the accuracy and effectiveness of the procedure.

Additional Services: Some clinics offer additional services such as post-operative care, medications, and follow-up appointments, which can add to the overall cost.

Types of Hair Transplant Procedures There are two primary types of hair transplant procedures: FUT and FUE. Understanding the differences between these procedures can help you make an informed decision.

Follicular Unit Transplantation (FUT): Also known as strip harvesting, FUT involves removing a strip of scalp from the donor area, usually at the back of the head. The strip is then divided into individual follicular units, which are transplanted to the recipient area. FUT is generally less expensive than FUE but can leave a linear scar.

Follicular Unit Extraction (FUE): FUE involves extracting individual follicular units directly from the donor area using a specialized punch tool. These units are then transplanted to the recipient area. FUE is more time-consuming and requires a higher level of skill, making it more expensive. However, it leaves minimal scarring and has a shorter recovery time compared to FUT. Financing and Payment Options Many clinics offer financing options to help patients manage the cost of hair transplants. These options can include:

Payment Plans: Some clinics offer payment plans that allow patients to spread the cost of the procedure over several months or years. This can make the procedure more affordable by breaking down the cost into manageable payments.

Medical Loans: Patients can also consider taking out a medical loan to cover the cost of the procedure. Medical loans often come with lower interest rates compared to traditional loans and can be tailored to the patient's financial situation.

Credit Cards: Using a credit card is another option, although it is important to be mindful of the interest rates and ensure that you can pay off the balance in a timely manner to avoid accumulating debt.

Choosing the Right Clinic and Surgeon Selecting the right clinic and surgeon is crucial for achieving the best possible results from a hair transplant. Here are some tips to help you make an informed decision:

Research and Reviews: Conduct thorough research and read reviews from previous patients. Look for clinics with a high number of positive reviews and testimonials.

Consultations: Schedule consultations with multiple clinics to discuss your needs and expectations. This will give you an opportunity to compare costs, assess the professionalism of the staff, and get a feel for the clinic's environment.

Surgeon's Credentials: Verify the surgeon's credentials, including their qualifications, experience, and membership in professional organizations such as the British Association of Hair Restoration Surgery (BAHRS).

Before and After Photos: Ask to see before and after photos of previous patients. This can give you an idea of the surgeon's skill and the quality of their work.

Transparent Pricing: Ensure that the clinic provides transparent pricing with a detailed breakdown of costs. Avoid clinics that offer prices that seem too good to be true, as they may compromise on quality or use outdated techniques.

Post-Operative Care and Maintenance The cost of a hair transplant doesn't end with the procedure itself. Post-operative care and maintenance are essential for ensuring the success of the transplant and the longevity of the results. These additional costs can include:

Medications: Patients may need to take medications such as antibiotics, pain relievers, and anti-inflammatory drugs to aid in the healing process and prevent infections.

Follow-Up Appointments: Regular follow-up appointments with the surgeon are crucial for monitoring the progress of the transplant and addressing any concerns.

Hair Care Products: Specialized hair care products may be recommended to promote healthy hair growth and maintain the results of the transplant.

Lifestyle Changes: Patients may need to make certain lifestyle changes, such as avoiding smoking and excessive alcohol consumption, to support the healing process and ensure optimal results.

Alternatives to Hair Transplants For those who may not be ready to commit to the cost or invasiveness of a hair transplant, there are alternative treatments available. These include:

Medications: Medications like Minoxidil (Rogaine) and Finasteride (Propecia) can help slow down hair loss and promote hair regrowth. While these treatments are less expensive than hair transplants, they require ongoing use to maintain results.

Low-Level Laser Therapy (LLLT): LLLT is a non-invasive treatment that uses red light to stimulate hair growth. It can be performed at home using laser combs or helmets, or at a clinic. The cost is lower than a hair transplant, but multiple sessions are required.

Platelet-Rich Plasma (PRP) Therapy: PRP therapy involves injecting platelet-rich plasma from the patient's blood into the scalp to stimulate hair growth. It is less invasive than a hair transplant and can be used in conjunction with other treatments. However, multiple sessions are needed, and the cost can add up over time.

Scalp Micropigmentation (SMP): SMP is a cosmetic procedure that involves tattooing tiny dots on the scalp to mimic the appearance of hair follicles. It is a less expensive alternative to hair transplants but does not promote actual hair growth.

Conclusion Hair transplants in the UK can be a life-changing solution for those struggling with hair loss, but they come with a significant financial investment. Understanding the various factors that influence the cost, the types of procedures available, and the importance of choosing a reputable clinic and surgeon can help you make an informed decision. Additionally, exploring financing options and considering alternative treatments can provide more flexibility in managing the cost. With careful planning and research, you can achieve the best possible results and restore your confidence.

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From Price to Quality: Decoding the Factors that Determine Hair Transplant Costs in Turkey

Hair transplant procedures have become increasingly popular in Turkey, known for its blend of high-quality services and affordable prices. However, understanding the factors that determine the hair transplant cost Turkey can be complex. This guide will explore the key elements that influence pricing, helping you make an informed decision.

Type of Hair Transplant Procedure FUE (Follicular Unit Extraction): Cost: Generally higher than older methods due to its precision and effectiveness. Quality: Offers natural-looking results with minimal scarring. It’s a minimally invasive procedure where individual hair follicles are extracted and implanted. FUT (Follicular Unit Transplantation): Cost: Typically lower than FUE. Quality: Involves removing a strip of scalp, which can leave a linear scar. It’s effective but more invasive than FUE. DHI (Direct Hair Implantation): Cost: Often the highest among the methods. Quality: Provides highly precise implantation with a special pen-like tool, resulting in a denser and more natural hairline.

Number of Grafts Required Cost: Directly proportional to the number of grafts needed. Clinics often charge on a per-graft basis. Quality: Higher graft numbers can cover larger areas, but the expertise of the surgeon is crucial to ensure a natural look.

Clinic Reputation and Expertise Reputation: Cost: Renowned clinics with high success rates and positive reviews tend to charge more. Quality: These clinics often have experienced surgeons and advanced equipment, ensuring better outcomes. Surgeon’s Expertise: Cost: More experienced and highly qualified surgeons command higher fees. Quality: Expertise in handling different hair types and complex cases can significantly enhance the quality of results.

Location of the Clinic City and Neighborhood: Cost: Clinics in major cities like Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir may charge more due to higher operating costs. Quality: These cities also offer more choices and advanced medical facilities, often leading to better overall service.

Technological Advancements and Equipment Use of Advanced Technology: Cost: Clinics using the latest technology and equipment often charge higher fees. Quality: Advanced tools and techniques can lead to less invasive procedures, quicker recovery times, and more natural-looking results.

Pre- and Post-Operative Care Comprehensive Care Packages: Cost: Inclusive packages that cover consultations, follow-ups, medications, and aftercare can increase overall costs. Quality: Comprehensive care ensures better preparation, smoother recovery, and long-term satisfaction with the results.

Additional Services Medical Tourism Packages: Cost: Packages that include accommodation, airport transfers, and tourism activities can raise the total expense. Quality: These packages offer convenience and a stress-free experience, allowing patients to focus on recovery.

Exchange Rates Currency Fluctuations: Cost: The value of the Turkish Lira against other currencies can affect the affordability for international patients. Quality: While exchange rates do not directly impact quality, they influence the overall cost for foreign patients.

Patient’s Individual Needs Complexity of the Case: Cost: More complex cases requiring extensive work will cost more. Quality: Customized approaches tailored to the patient's specific condition ensure better outcomes. Conclusion Decoding the factors that determine hair transplant costs in Turkey involves considering a multitude of elements, from the type of procedure and number of grafts to the reputation of the clinic and expertise of the surgeon. By understanding these factors, you can make an informed decision that balances cost and quality, ensuring you receive the best possible care and results. Whether you prioritize the latest technology, comprehensive care, or the reputation of the clinic, Turkey offers a wide range of options to meet your needs and expectations.