Patient Experience
My 82-year-old father, Ahmet, fell in the garden and fractured his hip. The ambulance brought him to Adana Ortopedia in agony. Dr. Sütoluk was like a calm commander in the storm of the emergency room. He didn't just see a broken bone; he saw my diabetic, frail father. His assessment was lightning-fast but thorough—checking for head trauma, managing the pain immediately. He explained the urgent need for surgery in simple terms we could grasp through our panic. The surgery was a success, and his post-op visits were marked by this unique blend of gentle humor with my father and clear, direct instructions for us. He turned a potential tragedy into a manageable recovery. We call him 'the calm earthquake' for how he handles crises.
Our 7-year-old daughter, Elif, took a bad tumble from her bicycle, and her wrist was bent at a sickening angle. In the pediatric emergency area, Dr. Zeynel was a completely different person. He knelt down to her eye level, spoke in a soft, story-telling voice about 'fixing the puzzle bones in her arm,' and had her giggling through her tears before the X-ray. His skill in setting the complex fracture was one thing, but his ability to disarm a terrified child was pure magic. He even drew a little cast-shaped dinosaur on her temporary splint. For the follow-up, he remembered her name and her favorite color (purple, for the final cast). He treated her like a little person, not just a small patient.
I'm a construction foreman, and a steel beam glanced off my leg at a site near the hospital. It wasn't a clean break; it was a mangled, open fracture with significant tissue damage—a real mess. This wasn't my first injury, but it was by far the worst. Dr. Sütoluk's approach was like a tactical surgeon in a trauma unit. No sugar-coating. He laid out the brutal facts: risk of infection, potential for multiple surgeries, a long road ahead. His confidence was not arrogant but deeply competent. The initial emergency surgery lasted hours to stabilize the bone and salvage the leg. His follow-up care has been militarily precise—aggressive against infection, brutally honest about progress, and relentlessly focused on the end goal: walking back onto a site. He's not warm and fuzzy; he's the general you want leading the fight to save your limb.
What I thought was a severe sprain from a weekend football match turned out to be a complete Achilles tendon rupture. Dr. Sütoluk, during what I assumed would be a routine check-up after the ER visit, did a specific test (Thompson squeeze test) and said, 'It's gone. We need to schedule repair surgery.' His manner was so matter-of-fact it was almost jarring. There was no drama, just clear, efficient expertise. The surgery was scheduled swiftly at Acibadem. Post-op, his instructions were famously minimalist but exact: 'Elevate. Exactly this angle. Move the toes. Don't even think about putting weight here.' His follow-up visits are brief, intensely focused on the surgical site and range of motion, and he has a zero-tolerance policy for cheating the rehab protocol. He's like a master craftsman who repaired a vital cable and now insists you follow the breaking-in instructions to the letter. Annoyingly brilliant.