Turkish Health Minister Fahrettin Koca argues that Turkey's mortality rate -- just above 2% -- is due to the country's large healthcare capacity and a treatment protocol that is different than other countries.
They have also been delaying intubation by using high frequency oxygen for a longer period of time, which he says has yielded better results.
And Turkey uses the malaria drug hydroxychloroquine and favipiravir, a Japanese antiviral, much earlier than other countries in the onset of Covid-19, Koca says.
But Lancaster University's Dr. Munir is one of many medical experts who opposes the use of the malaria drug.
He said the risk of the side effects outweighs any benefit that using hydroxychloroquine may have.
"Treatments have very little impact," he explained. "When it comes to hydroxychloroquine, the patients might have recovered from Covid-19 anyway, but after a year they might see heart problems coming back, that blindness is appearing. This is why there isn't enough evidence to approve these drugs on a mass scale."
"We are trying to save lives," says Dr. Nuri Aydin, the president of Istanbul University-Cerrrahpasa School of Medicine, one of the hospitals leading Turkey's response. "What we have seen is that the time that the patients spend in the ICU decreases when they take hydroxychloroquine before they reach the stage where they have to enter the ICU."
Aydin says there isn't enough data to publish their findings yet and that "time will show us the real results." And he adds that they are doing something else differently: Rather than having their patients lying face up, they are keeping many in the prone, ie face down, position. This, he says, has yielded positive results as well. And Turkey has started using plasma from patients that already contracted the disease on those that are still fighting it.
The government says its ICUs still have plenty of capacity and there is no shortage of hospital beds. And Turkey, which did not report its first case until mid-March, had time to prepare. Indeed, Turkey's hospital system is so good that the country has become a medical tourism destination.
In response to Covid-19, the country quickly developed programs to manufacture and distribute personal protective equipment (PPE) not just within Turkey itself, but overseas as well -- sending cargo loads to more than 30 countries, including the UK, Spain, and Italy.
The gesture of solidarity and goodwill is also perhaps aimed at rebuilding Turkey's frayed ties with its NATO allies.
Ministry of Education vocational schools in Istanbul and elsewhere have been turned into workshops churning out face masks, body suits, and surgical gowns intended for in-country use.
Others produce face shields and gallons and gallons of disinfectants, hand sanitizers, and other essential cleaning products. Masks are obligatory in public places like markets, but are not sold anywhere anymore.
That was banned because the government is distributing them free at pharmacies, or for those who can't go out, straight to their homes.
Turkey is easing the burden of the epidemic on those under stay at home orders by sending volunteers and police door to door to make sure vulnerable people have the services they need.
Call centers called "Acik Kapi" -- Open Door -- area located in every district where those elderly citizens under stay-at-home orders can call in requesting anything from a grocery delivery, pharmacy purchase or their monthly retirement cash.
Eyup is one of Istanbul's populous historic districts, where the phone rings nonstop.
Serdar Karakus, a school headmaster's assistant, and Ugur Uyan, a neighborhood mosque imam, have been authorized to withdraw people's retirement funds and deliver them to citizens who request their service.
They are both volunteers who say they do this as their duty to their country and their people.
"My parents are elderly. I live in Istanbul. They live in Manatya. They are receiving this service where they are because I am not there to help them," Karakus said. "But someone there is. So to do this for the elderly here, it's like I am doing it for my own parents."
A few hours later we join a group of policemen who are doing the rounds handing out face masks and Kolonya, a traditional Turkish version of hand sanitizer made up of 80 percent alcohol, usually scented with lemon fragrance.
Sadet Seker, in her 70s, lives alone. Her husband passed away years ago. She speaks to her children regularly on the phone.
But the last time she hugged them -- the last time she had physical contact with them -- was two or three months ago. She's not sure. We ask if they are in Istanbul.
"Yes, they are in Istanbul," she replies and then starts to shake, her eyes filling with tears.
They are so close, and yet they might as well be so far away. How soon she can actually see them will depend on whether or not Turkey's Covid-19 strategy is a successful gamble.
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