Former Ipswich Hospital consultant Dr Liz O’Riordan, who lives near Bury St Edmunds, tells how sharing her experiences has given her new purpose in life

Liz O’Riordan always knew she would become a doctor - it was the only job she ever wanted. Then, devastatingly, when her life seemed perfect, everything changed.

She had been a consultant breast surgeon for just two years when she was diagnosed with cancer, which ultimately ended her career.

With the cruellest irony – having dedicated herself to helping patients with breast cancer – she developed the disease herself and the side effects of surgery forced her to retire.

This summer she suffered a second local recurrence requiring a third round of surgery and treatment. It came less than a year after the shattering blow of losing her beloved mum to bone cancer.

But after retiring as a surgeon she has found a different way to feel like a doctor again … by sharing her experiences with others.

Writing, blogging and speaking honestly and frankly about cancer and the effects of treatment, death, and bereavement has become her new life’s mission.

She is also a passionate advocate of the benefits of exercise in helping to prevent cancer and lessen the chances of it coming back. Driving home the message that women need to check their breasts regularly is another priority.

After a recent broadcast interview the presenter told her ‘we've had so many people call in to say how wonderful you are’. It meant a lot.

“If just one person says thank you, it makes it worth it,” says Liz. “Knowing I am helping people is like being a doctor again. Talking and writing helps me, too. It makes it real. Writing is a huge part of my life now.”

She was a breast surgeon at Ipswich Hospital when the cancer struck. Her career path had never been in doubt. “I was fascinated by the human body at an early age. Dad was a doctor. Mum was a nurse.

“It was the only thing I could ever consider doing,” says Liz, who lives in Elmswell with her husband Dermot, a general surgeon at West Suffolk Hospital in Bury St Edmunds.

“Dermot was my boss when I was at the West Suffolk. I was there for 18 months. As part of your training you try every type of surgery then choose what you want to specialise in. He asked me out the day I left to work in Norwich in 2008, and we married in 2011.

“I was diagnosed with breast cancer in July 2015 when I was 40. I’d had a couple of breast cysts in previous years – the first one when my husband had just proposed.

“He was away at the time sailing around the North West Passage. I found a lump.”

In that moment her doctor’s cool head deserted her and her mind went into freefall. “I remember howling on the sofa – he won’t want to marry me, I’m going to be dead in a year.

“Luckily it was just a cyst, but I realised then what patients went through. Then I found another cyst before I had breast cancer.

“With the cancer I saw a lump in my cleavage. The cancer had suddenly doubled in size so I could see it. Like most women I didn’t check my breasts regularly.

“I thought it was just a cyst again. Then I had an ultrasound of the lump, it was like a siren going off. I saw cancer. At that point I realised – I’m young, it’s big, I’ll need chemo.

“I had to ring my mum, and say I will be telling you in a week that I have breast cancer.

“It’s as if you are talking about a patient, not you. It didn't feel real – like it was happening to someone else.

“In two weeks I started chemo. I had never heard before what my oncologist told me about chemo – I was just concerned with surgery. I had never heard the oncologist go through the complications and side effects, and I had never seen a radiotherapy machine.

“I had the chemo to shrink the tumour, and it showed it had disappeared. But because my breasts were small I decided to have a mastectomy and a reconstruction.

“I felt slightly guilty that vanity was a reason for wanting a reconstruction. I had an implant.

“I went back to get the results on December 23. I was surrounded by couples sitting holding hands, obviously waiting for possible bad news. I was thinking thank goodness I was going to get good news.

“But the surgeon said there was some cancer left and it was in my lymph nodes. That meant more surgery, radiotherapy and hormone treatment to stop me developing oestrogen.

“It was a mixture of ductal and lobular cancer which is unusual. Ductal is easy to see and responds well to chemo. Lobular was sneaky and the full extent wasn’t seen on the scan.

“That was Christmas 2015. It was a terrible Christmas – I knew too much.”

“My radiotherapy finished in April 2016 and I started treatment to make me menopausal to stop it coming back. In March 2017 I went back to work and started first at Addenbrooke’s – I had to know if I was safe to work.

“Then I started back at Ipswich but it was really hard. Every time I told a patient a diagnosis I saw myself and my husband crumpling.

“I had to stop the patient bit of me sharing my experience and telling them about it. I had to be empathetic but not sympathetic They couldn’t know that I had breast cancer, and I still had to have that professional barrier.”

In 2018 she had her breast implant removed. “I had a recurrence of the cancer on my chest wall – what is known as a local recurrence – and knew I had to go flat.”

She recalls searching in vain for a prothesis bra in a small enough size. “It was as if they thought women with small breasts don’t get cancer. I thought I’m going to spend the rest of my life going round like a hunchback trying to disguise the fact I have only one breast.

“People don’t see the hidden psychological damage of breast cancer. I couldn’t look at my mastectomy scar and wouldn't let my husband see it. We hadn’t decided if we were going to have children, but chemo made me infertile.

“Because I had lost my hair, ovaries, and breast I didn’t feel like a woman. I didn’t know how to dress, didn’t feel attractive, lost my identity. It was six months before I realised no-one was looking at me.

“I had no sex drive, no libido. There was also chronic pain from surgery and radiotherapy.”

Finally, in 2019, she had to give up the job she loved. “Surgery side effects meant my left arm didn’t work properly and I was forced to retire.

“I had gone from being an independent career woman to someone sitting on the sofa with no reason to get up in the morning.”

That was when writing began to fill the void. “I started writing a blog with another doctor, Professor Trisha Greenhalgh, who’d had chemo. That led to our first book, The Complete Guide to Breast Cancer. Then I started writing for the national press.

“The blog opened up a door to help people by sharing my story and saying you are not alone. I wanted to explain breast cancer in layman’s terms for people to understand.”

She gives talks to groups including patients and junior doctors sharing her experiences as a doctor and patient. “I have also been talking in schools about how to cope when things go wrong, tools to cope if something bad is happening, explaining cancer to young children in very general terms.

“One thing I never talked about was the depression I experienced as a surgeon. I was scared of patients finding out, colleagues finding out, would they trust me?

“Then during Covid I decided I wanted to tell my story. There were no books by female surgeons in a male world. So I wrote my memoir, Under the Knife. Ten publishers said no. Eventually I crowd-funded it in 10 days.”

This summer, the day before her book launch, she discovered the cancer had returned. “I had been cycling in Italy. I had just finished packing and looking in the mirror I saw a pink nodule just above my mastectomy scar. I was driving back from Italy with this sick feeling.”

The timing meant a tough period keeping it quiet. “I was recording a podcast with Victoria Derbyshire and I couldn’t say anything.”

“It’s one of the difficulties of being a public patient. Back in 2015 we announced my diagnosis on Twitter because people who knew me as a doctor would recognise me.

“It felt good to come out and tell the story rather than people gossiping. This time I was recognised by a couple of patients waiting to have my mammogram.”

She had a biopsy and surgery in early August which will be followed by more therapy. Afterwards she went back to Italy for a break with her step-family, describing herself as a bonus granny to her step-children.

The recurrence happened while Liz was still reeling from the death of her mum, Isobel, who died in December six months after being diagnosed with bone cancer.

“She’d had a lump but we thought it was a pulled muscle. We discovered she had bone cancer and it had spread to her lungs. She had her arm amputated and called herself the one-armed bandit on Twitter. She was amazing. She had palliative chemo, it is so hard seeing someone you love die of cancer.

“St Nicholas Hospice Care gave me free bereavement counselling. You don’t have to have a connection with the hospice. I had no idea about that and I want everyone to know and donate. It was an absolute godsend.

“In July this year Dermot and I did the sponsored cycle ride on our tandem dressed as Mr and Mrs Incredible and raised £3,000. We did 30 miles, it was really hot and lycra is very hot and sweaty,” she adds.

Cycling is one of the ways Liz gets the exercise which has become even more vital since she had cancer. “I was a cycling widow and thought if I don’t get a bike I won’t ever see my husband.

“Then I started doing triathlons just for me. I did one just before I turned 40 . In September 2015, half way through my chemo, I did a triathlon. As I crossed the finish line I was crying. Cancer couldn’t take everything away from me.”

She then took on the challenge of a half Ironman – swimming 1.2 miles, cycling 56, and running 13.1.

And one of her prized possessions is the London Classics medal certifying she has run the London Marathon, swum two miles in the Serpentine, and done the Ride London 100 cycle ride which she and Dermot completed on their tandem.

“Exercise can halve the risk of getting cancer and reduce the risk of it coming back,” she says. “I have started wild swimming with the Wild Suffolk Swimmers. Going into cold water in December is amazing.

“I do parkruns – they do 5k Your Way for people affected by cancer. I still cycle, river swim, and do and weight training twice a week for bone health. I started that in lockdown with dumbells and resistance bands.

“We are about to head into October and it’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I want to put something out there because it can be hard to be diagnosed at that time.”

For more information go to liz.oriordan.co.uk, the podcast Don’t Ignore The Elephant, YouTube @DrLizORiordan, Instagram @oriordanliz or Twitter @Liz_ORiordan