Catherine Gigante-Brown

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.

I saw my present mother-in-law in a whole new light the first time she held my newborn son.

raunchy renaissance woman. multimedia artist. probably a slut.

erotic. intimate. unapologetic.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

Wrinkles or lifelines? Chunky or curvaceous? The choice is yours.