When I turned 18, I had the opportunity to observe a friend’s dad performing surgery while on work experience at a hospital. The moment I entered the operating theater and witnessed the lifting of a bowel, I was captivated. I knew instantly that I wanted to pursue a career in this field.
As a breast surgeon, I have always admired the artistry involved in surgery and the close relationships formed with patients. However, I never took the time to regularly check my own breasts. I had the misguided belief that as a breast surgeon, I wouldn’t be susceptible to breast cancer. This was completely absurd.
When I had an ultrasound for a lump, I immediately recognized it as cancer and knew I would need chemotherapy and a mastectomy. I had a reasonable idea of my prognosis, estimating a 60-70% chance of being alive in 10 years.
I received treatment at the hospital where I received my training, and my former colleagues performed my operation. Despite everyone trying to maintain professionalism, I could sense the underlying emotions in the room. I wanted to provide input to my surgeon, suggesting certain sutures, drain placement, and dressing choices. However, she urged me to be the patient and relinquish control. Trusting her completely, I found it difficult to let go.
Prior to my own diagnosis, I didn’t fully comprehend the impact of having breast cancer. I only knew the basics about the side effects of chemotherapy because that was the oncologist’s role. But suddenly, I experienced brain fog, constipation, and how menopausal symptoms can affect relationships. I also grieved for the loss of certain things, such as the likelihood of becoming infertile due to chemo. My husband and I had not yet had children.
I took 18 months off to recover and plan my return to work. It was an incredibly challenging period. The first time I witnessed someone discovering they had cancer, particularly someone young, I watched as they and their spouse crumbled. I felt powerless to make things better. It triggered flashbacks of how my husband and I must have appeared.
I am ashamed that I had never explored patients’ forums or listened to their experiences at conferences. Doctors should prioritize understanding what patients want after leaving their offices. I also regret not listening to patients at conferences, as I was often preoccupied with networking and staying informed about the latest treatments. It is crucial for everyone to listen to the patient experience.
Just five months after I returned to work, my cancer recurred. This required the removal of my implant, additional radiotherapy, and the removal of my ovaries. Sadly, it also led to my forced retirement as I could no longer safely perform surgery due to the loss of movement in my left arm. I was devastated to realize that twenty years of my life had vanished. But now, through sharing my story via talking, blogging, and creating videos, I have found my own way to help others. Rediscovering myself after such circumstances was not a choice I made, but I have adapted.
I can’t recall the last operation I performed. I received the results of my biopsy the following day and never returned to the operating room. I often wonder if I had known it was my final operation, would I have approached it differently? Would the pressure have made me better or worse? I miss being part of a team that comes together to make a difference in someone’s life. Dr. Liz O’Riordan, breast surgeon, author, podcaster, and Instagram personality @oriordanliz.