Spec. MD. Neslihan Baltaci

Our 92-year-old grandmother, who has complex geriatric needs alongside her pediatric history of congenital heart issues from childhood, was turned away by multiple adult specialists. Dr. Baltaci, with her profound historical knowledge of pediatric conditions that persist into old age, took her on as a unique continuity-of-care patient. She didn't just adjust medications; she deciphered 80-year-old medical records in Ottoman script to understand the full picture. Her holistic approach, bridging a century of care, brought stability we hadn't seen in years. At Medical Park Gebze, she proves pediatrics isn't just about age, but about lifelong patient journeys.

During a holiday in Gebze, our 3-year-old developed acute stridor at midnight. We rushed to the hospital opposite Fatih State, expecting chaos. Dr. Neslihan was there, calm amidst the storm. What stood out wasn't just the rapid diagnosis of croup, it was how she transformed the emergency room. She dimmed the lights, sang a specific Turkish lullaby in a whispery voice to slow his breathing, and had us create a 'steam tent' with blankets and a kettle brought from the hospital kitchen. Her intervention was sensory medicine before medication. The crisis passed without a single invasive procedure. She treats the child's environment, not just the child.

For our daughter's routine 5-year checkup, Dr. Baltaci conducted what she called a 'developmental archaeology' session. Instead of just measuring height, she laid out puzzles, observed how our child stacked blocks with her left hand, and asked her to tell a story about a picture of the Bosphorus Bridge. From this, she identified a subtle visual tracking delay unrelated to standard eye charts. Her 'routine' visit uncovered a need for pre-reading support we never would have noticed. She finds hidden narratives in ordinary milestones, turning checkups into discovery missions.

Our newborn required complex abdominal surgery. Dr. Baltaci's pre-operative ritual was extraordinary: she met with us for three hours, not just explaining surgery, but showing us the specific instruments, letting us hold them, and using a knitted abdominal model she made herself to demonstrate. Post-op, during the toughest night, she didn't just do rounds, she sat in the NICU chair and knitted a tiny, green hat (her signal for 'intestinal warriors,' she said) while monitoring vitals herself. Her care was a fabric of science and crafted, tangible comfort. She doesn't just perform surgery; she weaves a safety net around the entire family.