Catherine Gigante-Brown

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

"I was afraid this thing was going to do me in. But I took a deep breath and decided very early on that I would face cancer on my own terms."

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

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

We’ve pieced ourselves back together in a patchwork quilt of ragged emotions. The aftermath of 9/11 wasn’t easy for us, yet it was much easier than for some. People standing 50 feet away from Peter didn’t come home that night; he did.

Even when I explained to my son that he came from a long line of short people, it didn’t help. David still felt bad about being small. How could a five-year-old possibly get this type of size-shaming message? From other people, mostly insensitive adults. They gave him the idea that bigger was somehow better.

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.

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

The santero sent us off with a shopping list of ite

TCM (traditional Chinese medicine) has been around for at least five centuries –– there’s got to be something to it.