Catherine Gigante-Brown

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!

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

"Remember, this isn’t just happening to you, it’s happening to moms everywhere. It’s not your fault — "

I sat obediently in her chair atop four ancient copies of the Yellow Pages. Crossing my fingers, I prayed Catholic schoolgirl prayers.

The santero sent us off with a shopping list of ite

If the odds of getting cancer are like Powerball, why couldn't I be a scratch-off millionaire?

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.

What Stephen didn’t know –– what no one knew –– was how weak my knees grew when I pushed through the swinging doors of the ICU.

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

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