Catherine Gigante-Brown

I dreaded putting him back on Concerta in the fall but I knew I had to. Or did I?

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

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

As a breast cancer survivor, the worst day of the year is when I go for my mammogram. True, nobody actually likes mammos, but I’ve been bitten by one. On the way to my annual squishing, I realized that I have a bunch of coping strategies.

The santero sent us off with a shopping list of ite

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

I realized my father was from a generation that never said those three little words. He was saying he loved me without them. But I didn't realize it then.

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

I go for checkups when I’m supposed to: every three months to the oncologist and every six months to the breast surgeon. I go to SHARE support group meetings to bolster myself. I try to get enough sleep, despite the occasional night spent wide-eyed with dread.

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