Catherine Gigante-Brown

Mindel and Maria were young teenagers when the horrors occurred—but they remembered the tiniest details with crystal-clear intensity.

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

You learn a lot about people when you live in their home. The Taylors seemed to lead a joyless, Spartan existence.

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

Why, when I'm cool with being a salt-and-pepper chick, does it so clearly unnerve others?

“It’s almost as though this niche was patiently waiting for us to find it.”

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

I immediately developed a hot-and-heavy girlcrush on the wild, wacky, brash, candid, feminist, rubber-faced comedian—and you should too.

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.

That’s the thing about being a breast cancer survivor — it’s always there: it never goes away. The scars, the fear that lurks in the back of your mind like a boogeyman. You’re going along nicely, living your merry life, and you’re fine, until you’re not.