Dr. Betül Saritaş Reviews

Our 8-year-old son, Leo, developed a mysterious, persistent fever that baffled local clinics for weeks. Dr. Betül approached it like a detective—she noticed a tiny, nearly invisible rash pattern on his ankles others had missed. She ordered very specific tests for Kawasaki disease, which confirmed her suspicion. Her calm explanation to terrified parents and her immediate coordination with the cardiology unit at Acibadem Taksim saved his heart. Her follow-up calls on weekends weren't protocol; they were pure compassion. We don't just have a pediatrician; we have a guardian.

As a 72-year-old grandfather caring for my infant granddaughter after my daughter's deployment, I felt utterly out of my depth. My 'routine checkup' with Dr. Saritaş for the baby turned into a gentle tutorial for me. She didn't just examine little Zeynep; she taught me, with incredible patience, how to interpret different cries, proper bottle-warming techniques for the modern formulas, and even showed me baby CPR on a doll. She wrote instructions in large print. She treated a nervous elder with the same respect as the child. This wasn't pediatrics; it was intergenerational care at its finest.

Our 14-year-old daughter, Elif, a competitive gymnast, suffered a complex, displaced radial head fracture during a vault. The emergency orthopedist suggested surgery with a standard plate. Dr. Betül, consulted for pediatric oversight, questioned it. She advocated for a closed reduction attempt first, emphasizing the unique growth plates in adolescents. She spent an hour in the imaging department with the radiologist, analyzing angles. Her approach worked, avoiding invasive surgery and preserving full range of motion. Her focus wasn't just on healing the bone, but on saving a gymnast's future. The follow-up was rigorous, tailored to athletic recovery.

It was 2 AM when our 6-month-old, Mila, started making a horrifying, high-pitched sound with each breath. The ER was chaotic. Dr. Saritaş, who was on call, moved with a focused serenity that cut through our panic. Diagnosing severe croup in seconds, she bypassed the waiting line, administering epinephrine and steroids immediately. What stuck with me was her voice—she sang a soft, rhythmic Turkish lullaby while holding the nebulizer mask, her eyes locked on Mila's, turning a terrifying emergency into a moment of strange calm. She then admitted us for observation and personally checked every hour. She doesn't just treat illness; she treats fear.