Catherine Gigante-Brown

Having someone steal my cancer history and co-opt it for their first-person Facebook blog is unbelievably violating. Somehow, it feels almost as invasive as my mastectomy.

Makeup and I have always had a love/hate relationship: I love it; it hates me.

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

Alas, I am the lone female in a house full of men. Only two men, but they take up a lot of space.

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

The hell with his elaborate metaphors and rhetorical phrases. Iambic pentameter is cruel and unusual punishment.

BCBs are loud and proud and refuse to go down easy. And quietly. We have things to say. We have things to teach. We still have life to live. And damn it, we are and we will. With one breast. With no breasts. With reconstruction surgery.

The Daily News quoted one painted lady as saying, “People come up to us sometimes and say what we do is disgusting,” she said. “But what is disgusting about the female body? They shield their kids sometimes, and I think, ‘Kids come from the female body.’”

A midtown Manhattan studio was recently the site of liberation-both on and offscreen-when Shenshean

At the New York City release party for Dayna Kurtz’ latest, Rise and Fall, my friend Nadia leaned over to me and whispered, “Why the fuck