Prof. M.D. Ertuğrul Zencirci

I was hiking in the Kaçkar Mountains when a crushing chest pain hit me. Rushed to Acıbadem Maslak, I was terrified. Dr. Zencirci met me in the ER, calm as a mountain lake. He diagnosed a spontaneous coronary artery dissection—rare, especially in a 42-year-old woman. His team performed an emergency catheterization, but he chose a conservative stent strategy, explaining every millimeter of my arteries on the screen. 'Your body is trying to heal itself; we will assist, not overwhelm it,' he said. Three months later, I'm back to moderate trails. He didn't just fix a vessel; he respected my active life.

Our 8-year-old son, Deniz, kept fainting during football. Pediatricians said it was 'just growth spurts.' Dr. Zencirci spent an hour just watching Deniz's playful squirms before any tests. He found an anomalous coronary artery, a hidden path that could have been catastrophic. The surgery was complex—rerouting the artery like a master plumber working on a dollhouse pipe. What struck us was his post-op visit: he brought a model heart and explained to Deniz, in pirate-talk, how his 'engine' was now perfect for treasure hunts. We didn't get a cardiologist; we got a guardian for our child's future.

At 78, with a valve as calcified as an old seashell, I was refused surgery elsewhere. Dr. Zencirci proposed a TAVI procedure, but his approach was uniquely philosophical. 'We are not fighting time,' he said, 'we are negotiating with it.' He involved my geriatrician, adjusted my arthritis meds pre-emptively, and used a specific access route to spare my fragile spine. The procedure felt like a coordinated ballet, not a battle. At my follow-up, he reviewed my echocardiogram and then asked about my olive trees in Bodrum. The repair was technical excellence; the care was human wisdom.

I came for a routine checkup, a 50-year-old with 'just high cholesterol.' Dr. Zencirci's routine is anything but. Instead of just blood tests, he performed a coronary calcium scan and found significant plaque. But his intervention wasn't just a prescription. He designed a 'culinary angiography'—working with his nutritionist to map my Turkish diet, replacing kaymak with alternatives, suggesting heart-healthy mezes. He framed it as preserving my cultural enjoyment, not deprivation. Every 6-month follow-up feels like a strategic review with a compassionate general. He turned a warning sign into a sustainable life project.