M.D. Hande Bolat Reviews

My 82-year-old father, Ahmet, fell in the bazaar and hit his head. By the time we reached Acıbadem Taksim, he was confused. Dr. Hande Bolat was like a calm commander in the storm. She didn't just order a CT scan; she held his hand, called him 'dede' (grandpa), and explained everything to him in simple terms even in his disoriented state. She spotted a small subdural hematoma we were ready to dismiss. Her decision for overnight observation instead of immediate intervention felt like a calculated gamble, but she was right. By morning, he was lucid. She didn't treat a scan; she treated my father. Her blend of sharp emergency protocol and profound humanity is something I've never witnessed in an ER.

Our 7-year-old, Elif, swallowed a small toy battery during a birthday party panic. The next 45 minutes were the longest of our lives. Dr. Bolat met us at the ambulance entrance. Her energy was focused, immediate, but she knelt to Elif's level first. 'Merhaba, ben Hande. Şu küçük misafiri çıkaralım mı?' (Hello, I'm Hande. Shall we take out that little guest?). She turned a terrifying procedure into a mission for my daughter. In the procedure room, she narrated each step to Elif like a story. No time was wasted, yet there was no rush. The battery was out in what felt like seconds. She then spent 20 minutes with us, showing us the X-rays, explaining the possible tissue damage timeline, and giving us a follow-up plan. This wasn't trauma care; it was trauma prevention, delivered with the care of a pediatrician.

I'm a freelance photographer, and I came in for what I thought was a severe migraine after a 3-day shoot—just needed strong painkillers. Dr. Bolat took one look at me, asked about the 'quality' of the pain (a question no one had ever asked), and did a swift neurological exam in her triage area. Her suspicion was immediate: thunderclap headache. She bypassed the queue for a lumbar puncture herself. It revealed a small subarachnoid bleed. I was in surgery within two hours. She visited me in the ICU post-op, not during rounds, but later, with a printout of my brain scan. 'This is where it was. You're going to be fine. Your camera is waiting.' She saved my life because she listened to the story my pain was telling, not the story I was telling her.

Following a complex motorcycle accident where I had multiple orthopedic surgeries, I developed a persistent, high fever and delirium. Other specialists were focused on their own domains. Dr. Bolat, who handled my initial resuscitation, was called back. She reviewed everything—the surgery notes, the meds, the wound cultures—and then did something simple: she examined the IV line in my neck herself. 'Source control,' she said quietly. She suspected a line infection seeding to my spine. A targeted MRI confirmed a spinal epidural abscess. Her cross-disciplinary thinking in the ER bridged the gaps between the surgeons. She coordinated the new treatment plan, speaking the language of each specialty. She didn't just manage an emergency; she managed the emergency within the larger emergency of my recovery. Her mind connects dots others don't even see on the page.