Catherine Gigante-Brown

I left Cuba in 1949, when I was 11 years old. Back then, I didn't understand why my mother sent me away. I still don't.

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.

Food can be more than nourishing; it can be healing.

In the photograph, my great-grandmother, Margarita Cirigliano, is sitting at a small table on the front porch of the family home in Borough Park, Brooklyn.

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

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

The office cubicle is indeed a strange bird. Here's how to survive life in a box without driving you—or your office mates—crazy.

I try. I really do. But whenever I attempt to embrace my husband Peter’s Cuban culture, I always screw up.

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

I’m boycotting you until you start recognizing breast cancer survivors like me by carrying mastectomy bras.