At a Glance
- Sue Hwang, a 46-year-old breast-radiation oncologist, was diagnosed with Stage 2 invasive lobular carcinoma in January 2024.
- She underwent a double mastectomy, four rounds of chemo, radiation, and a full hysterectomy-all while continuing to treat her own patients.
- Her memoir, From Both Sides of the Curtain, releases January 20, 2026.
- Why it matters: Her story shatters the myth that medical expertise shields anyone from cancer and spotlights the emotional toll on survivors after treatment ends.
Sue Hwang spent her days zapping breast tumors with radiation, guiding terrified women through scans, surgeries, and survival statistics. Then the 46-year-old physician became the patient on her own exam table.
The Diagnosis That Shouldn’t Have Happened
January 25, 2024, started as routine. Her best friend, breast surgeon Devina McCray, had nagged her into scheduling a long-overdue mammogram. The tech saw “a few calcifications,” nothing alarming-until the ultrasound revealed five distinct masses.
Hwang agreed to an on-the-spot biopsy. McCray stood beside her, silently crying while stroking her hair. Twenty-four hours later the pathology came back: Stage 2 invasive lobular carcinoma, a subtype notorious for hiding without the classic lump.
Telling the Kids-Three Ways
Each son needed a different message.
- James, 15: Future-doctor mode. Immediate questions about treatment protocols and prognosis.
- Sam, 13: Quiet, then resumed math homework on his phone.
- Nathan, 11: Asked what dying feels like and “is it dark forever?”
Their friend’s mother had died of breast cancer the previous year; the word “cancer” carried a death sentence in their minds.
Surgery, Chemo, Secrecy
Hwang scheduled a double mastectomy within days. Surgeons stopped counting tumors after 10. Four cycles of chemo followed, paired with cold-capping to save her hair. She told almost no one, returning to work two weeks post-mastectomy in scrub caps to hide the bald spot that eventually won anyway.
Radiation came next-every workday she slipped out between patients for her own treatment, then returned to counsel women on the very process she was enduring.
The Shift From Doctor to Peer
When patients balked at mastectomies, she finally dropped the anonymity:
> “I’m gonna be really honest with you, I just had mastectomies. You can get through it. I got through it, and so can you.”
The admission dissolved barriers; women asked practical questions about drains, expanders, and how to dress when you can’t raise your arms. A new trust formed-“a bond I never had before I got diagnosed.”
Hormone Shutdown and a Hysterectomy
Lobular cancers feed on estrogen. On July 31, 2024, Hwang had her ovaries removed, then told surgeons to “take the uterus too-less to worry about.” She started endocrine therapy plus a CDK4/6 inhibitor, stacking on muscle-building workouts, protein targets, meditation, and protected sleep blocks.
December Off-And a New Mission
Burnout hit hard. Treating women with the same cancer she feared could kill her became emotionally untenable. She took December 2024 off, sifted through hundreds of social-media messages, and discovered a recurring theme: women felt “left behind” once active treatment ended.
She returned with a revised purpose: survivorship advocacy. Her book, From Both Sides of the Curtain, launches January 20, 2026, aiming to guide women through the psychological no-man’s-land after chemo, surgery, and radiation.
Key Takeaways
- Cancer ignores résumés-even breast-cancer doctors.
- Honesty from a white coat can calm patient panic faster than statistics.
- Survivorship care is the next frontier: fear doesn’t end when treatment does.
- Small lifestyle tweaks-sleep, weights, meditation-can restore a sense of control.
