Catherine Gigante-Brown

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.

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

I know it’s not a politically correct one, but I’ve got a confession to make: earth-friendly hotels stink. There, I said it.

sex sage. fetish specialist. author.

Who says feminists don't love alpha males and cooking?

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

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 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.

erotic. intimate. unapologetic.

I’m a firm believer that Tiny Kindnesses can change the world, one sweet, loving gesture at a time.