M.D. Mehmet Akkuşaklı

My 82-year-old father, Ahmet, fell in our garden in Kozan and suffered a complex hip fracture. The local clinic was overwhelmed. We rushed him to Adana Acıbadem, where Dr. Mehmet Akkuşaklı took charge immediately. What struck me wasn't just his surgical skill—which was evident in the precise, minimally invasive procedure—but his pre-operative consultation. He spent 20 minutes explaining the biomechanics of the fracture to my father in simple terms, using a model of the pelvis, and asked about his daily rituals (like his morning tea in the garden). Post-surgery, Dr. Akkuşaklı visited at 11 PM just to check his vitals himself, saying, 'For elderly trauma, the first night's inflammation markers are a whispered secret.' My father is now walking with a cane, and Dr. Akkuşaklı still calls every fortnight to ask about his progress. This is beyond medicine; it's a covenant of care.

Our 7-year-old daughter, Elif, swallowed a small lithium battery from a toy remote. Panic doesn't describe it. At Adana Acıbadem's ER, Dr. Akkuşaklı met us at the door. His calm was immediate—'We have 90 minutes, and we will use them well.' He didn't just order an X-ray; he explained to Elif, using a cartoon diagram, how a 'tiny spaceship' needed to be retrieved from her 'tummy galaxy.' He involved her in the countdown for the endoscopic procedure. The extraction was successful, but he then spent 30 minutes with us reviewing household safety, showing us a magnet test to identify dangerous batteries. His follow-up was a video call with Elif two days later, where he 'awarded' her a certificate of bravery. He turned a terrifying emergency into a managed, educational experience. We are forever grateful.

I'm a 45-year-old long-distance truck driver. During a routine DOT physical at a port clinic, they detected an irregular ECG and sent me straight to Adana Acıbadem. I expected a cardiologist, but Dr. Akkuşaklı, the trauma specialist, was assigned. He reviewed my history—years of poor sleep, caffeine overload, and a minor steering-wheel chest impact from a sudden stop months prior. He diagnosed it not as a primary cardiac issue, but as 'commotio cordis sequelae'—a rare, delayed electrical disturbance from that old blunt trauma. He coordinated with a cardiologist for a confirmatory MRI but led the management. His insight was startling. He said, 'Your body recorded that impact like a seismograph, and it's just now playing back the tape.' He designed a tailored monitoring plan that fits my over-the-road lifestyle. This wasn't a routine checkup; it was diagnostic detective work of the highest order.

My brother, a construction foreman, was brought in after a 4-meter fall onto rebar. The steel rod impaled his thigh. The scene was chaotic. Dr. Akkuşaklı's command in the trauma bay was absolute yet quiet. He didn't shout orders; he gave precise, timed instructions. 'We do not pull the rebar here,' he stated. 'We go to OR with it as an extension of his body.' In surgery, he used a specialized oscillating saw to cut the rebar externally before removal, minimizing internal damage. Post-op, he explained the risk of 'traumatic angiogenesis' and set up a unique vascular monitoring protocol. But what stays with me is this: the next day, he brought a photo of the removed, bent rebar to my brother and said, 'This is what you survived. Remember its shape when you feel pain during physio—it's the map of your strength.' That reframing of trauma was profoundly healing.