Catherine Gigante-Brown

After I got over the initial devastation, I pulled myself up by my big-girl panties and got on with it. Chemo was no picnic—but it was do-able.

To the tattoo artist, I was a flesh canvas that she could transform into something beautiful.

We’ve pieced ourselves back together in a patchwork quilt of ragged emotions. The aftermath of 9/11 wasn’t easy for us, yet it was much easier than for some. People standing 50 feet away from Peter didn’t come home that night; he did.

At first, I felt like an abandoned ten-year-old, dropped off at a remote summer camp—with the extra added attraction of no cell phone reception or Wi-Fi. I thought the hardest part of the weekend was going to be picking out a robe. Boy, was I wrong!

A new U.S. Preventive Services Task Force recommendation on mammograms ensures more women will die of breast cancer.

From New York to LA, this lady knows a good story.

I’m boycotting you until you start recognizing breast cancer survivors like me by carrying mastectomy bras.

sex sage. fetish specialist. author.

Once upon a time, it was easier to keep track of gender. Today, not so much — the lines are blurred. For many, gender’s not so much about questioning your own identity as it is about questioning the very nature of identity.

My husband and I agreed: raising a child with an independent spirit who made decisions for himself was a good thing.