What did you get me for my 1 Year CancerVersary?

An update on life in remission

Jul 28, 2025

Hey Ma’s Basement Dwellers! Long time no see. Let me first address that this blog does still exist. Believe it or not, I continue to write all the time, but I’m always stuck in a cycle of writing too much and then taking too long to edit, and then what I’m writing about doesn’t matter any more (or, more realistically, I’m just bored of it myself). In the future of Ma’s Basement, I would love to focus more on just getting my posts out there and writing fewer words. However, this will not be one of those times, so buckle up.

We’re approaching the one year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. I’m not really sure what counts as the anniversary date—the first day I felt sick (July 14), the first time a doctor told me I had cancer (July 16), the first time I told someone else I might have cancer (July 20), or the day I got my test results back (August 5). Whatever the date is, it’s about that time. And what a year it’s been…

So, what’s new? I took my Matt Beat Cancer World Tour to Spain, Portugal, and Puerto Rico. I ate the best cardamom bun in the world and had a religious experience at a waterfall in the Puerto Rican rainforest. I moved back to NYC and have all new doctors. The hospital I go to now is the number two cancer hospital in the country, and my new oncologist received the Castle Connolly award for America’s Top Doctor since 2008 and is a specialist in T-Cell lymphoma. These things typically aren’t anything more than just words on a page, but I can really tell the difference here. Memorial Sloan Kettering feels like a place I don’t dread going to, and for all the nightmarish experiences I’ve had with my doctors, Dr. Horwitz is attentive, caring, and doesn’t feel like he’s rushing through the appointment. I’ve left every session optimistic about my future and feeling like all my questions have been answered thoroughly. It’s a new feeling, but a very welcome one nonetheless.

El Yunque National Rainforest, Puerto Rico

I started going to therapy, which lasted me a total of one (1) hour. Would you believe I was cured after only one session? The first meeting was with a psychiatrist, who upon 10 minutes of chatting wrote me a prescription for Zoloft (with no diagnosis of any issues, mind you). I didn’t waste either of our time pretending I was interested in pills—I said woah woah woah, you don’t even want to try talk therapy first? We’re going straight to the SSRIs? So as a second resort, she sent me to a psychologist, and it was actually really nice. I enjoyed speaking to someone who was able to contextualize things I hadn’t been able to put into words, and have a sounding board for things I had only ever told Substack. I went to him for health anxiety and nervousness around the cancer coming back, to which he said—in more or less words—”well, duh.” During the appointment, he asked me to rank my anxiety from 1 to 10, and I responded, “I don’t know, maybe a 2?” Which made me laugh out loud at realizing I was seeking therapy for a level two anxiety problem. He validated my feelings, but also pointed out that it felt so unusual for me because my baseline of anxiety hovers somewhere around a level -250 normally, so to have it up at 2 feels suffocating. My health anxiety isn’t causing me to cancel appointments or stay in bed for days at a time; I just tend to feel around my body a lot more for lumps or worry that a cold might be more than a cold. The psychologist explained that this anxiety is very normal and not even unhealthy, just a new feeling. He certainly didn’t recommend that I stop seeing him, but seeing that first therapy bill said more than enough. I feel far more content in my daily life now, and don’t think about my health every hour on the hour like I was only a matter of months ago. As much as I miss my friends and family and dog and car, I believe most of this change in mindset is due to leaving the place where I got treatment and relocating to NYC.

The beautiful interior design of my new cancer center's waiting room. Feels very Guggenheim meets Solange 'A Seat at the Table'

I’ll be honest, I’ve loved being back in Brooklyn. Every delicious dinner I eat, every time I go to my gym that’s caused me to develop Stockholm Syndrome, every movie I watch that hasn’t seen a national release yet, every time I dance for hours at the club, or every time I spend more than $10 on an iced caffeinated beverage, I know I was meant to be in New York. If nothing else, I am an NYC supremacist; if life is supposed to be spent doing the things you love, there’s no better place to do that than here. And after what I went through, I just want to have the most fun I can. Sue me! Thinking about doing these things kept me sane during treatment, and it feels unbelievable to eat the sandwich I dreamed of when I was too nauseous to eat, or stroll aimlessly for miles through Central Park when I was too weak to even walk the Flushing Nature Trail six months ago.

As far as my day to day health, I feel incredible. My six month PET scans came back clear and blood tests completely healthy. I’m astounded more and more every day by the human body’s ability to recover. I was receiving intense chemotherapy six months ago, and now I’m able to keep up with a consistent exercise routine four times a week, lifting pretty much the same weight as this time last year. My hair is about 95 percent grown back now, and it’s no longer blonde, which can only mean my manifestation spells have worn off a bit. I still have remaining side effects like neuropathy, which has improved greatly in my hands but is still annoying when it comes time to button a shirt, and has improved in my feet but still is noticeable when I’m running or have been walking for a while. My doctors said to just stay healthy, keep my immune system as strong as possible, and don’t pick up smoking any time soon (wasn’t planning on it). This aligns with a report I read recently, where consistent exercise programs were shown to improve cancer survival by 37 percent. Every day I’m so grateful to be alive and have the ability to move freely.

It feels like after facing a near-death experience, I should be living a little differently, but I am so happy to be mostly back to where I was a year ago. My life feels too perfect at times, even with all my struggles. As far as new developments, I’ve been out in the world DJing, because why not? As DJ JCPenney, I’ve been enjoying bringing Carly Rae Jepsen, Zara Larsson, and the Project X soundtrack to the club. I’m far from the first unemployed DJ in Brooklyn, and I certainly won’t be the last.

I’m #TeamTatted now, which is a very new development. I used to have a very different opinion on tattoos (filed under: I respect it but it ain’t me) due to the fact that there’s nothing I really want on my body forever. I have a different perspective on “my body” and “forever” now, so I’m far more open to the idea of permanence than I used to be. I got a tattoo about a month and a half after finishing treatment that says “Get over it” in the spot on my neck where my lymphoma was. This is partly because I just like the idea of a get over it neck tat, but also in reference to the song Get Over It by DJ Sabrina The Teenage DJ. The song contains the lyrics “you get what you get, you get upset, and you cry a little, and then you get over it.” After losing faith in my “everything happens for a reason” mentality, this quote really helped me in some low moments. As my surgery scars start to heal, this will be a visual reminder of what I’ve fought through and won. I got a tattoo of a scene from Twin Peaks on my bicep, because it was an important show to me over the last year and the scene is meaningful and absurd in all my favorite ways, showing a moment when two people with different views (see: city vs. small town) chose love instead of violence. “Inside you there are two wolves” type shit. And the most recent one is a tattoo of sheet music, because I like music and it looks cool. I don’t think I’m done, but I am for the foreseeable future, as I’m more or less a responsible adult and won’t spend the money I have left on tattoos.

Tattoo tour (artists from left to right: @rubytiiger, @makeout_sesh, @fionashreds)

I am still looking for work, unfortunately. Certainly not out of lack of trying or support—I’ve gotten plenty of leads from my friends and family—but nothing has panned out. My track record shows I’m not above taking a service job or even donating plasma to get by, but no one is nibbling quite yet. Don’t get me wrong, some days I wake up and spend my day going to the gym, watching Real Housewives of New York, and walking through the park, thinking “Wow, I do this so well. I was born to live an unemployed life.” After all, what is unemployment but a state of mind? But we’re approaching bankruptcy over here at Matt K Enterprises, and there’s only so many final round interview projects I can do before I finally snap.

I spend most of my days breaking LinkedIn world records for the amount of applications sent, or fighting with government programs trying to get assistance. I won’t bore you with details, but I’ve gotten denied from Medicaid, food stamps, and unemployment due to no errors of my own. After about three months of back and forth, I finally got approved for Medicaid, and I’m still working on the other two. In addition, I’m still trying to get my hospital bills covered, a process made more difficult due to the fact that the hospital “didn’t know my full name”. Whateverrrrr. Something I’ve learned throughout this process is how the people who are supposed to help those in need have seemingly no interest in doing so, and make it an incredibly difficult process. If it’s an impossible task for me—an English-speaking person with a support system and internet access—to receive assistance, I can’t imagine how those in worse situations than me are getting the help they need.

Two hours on hold with the NYC Medicaid office is my 9 to 5 lately

Unfortunately, recent policies passed by the current administration are not making it any easier for me to get the continued help I need. The National Cancer Institute’s budget is getting cut by almost 40 percent. Government assistance programs like Medicaid and food stamps, that will help me get back on my feet after going through a life-altering event, are losing billions of dollars in funding and imposing more restrictions. Medical debt will now be included on credit scores, which will most likely lead to me receiving the gold medal in the inaugural Terrible Credit Score Olympics. I’m a prime example of the type of person who would benefit from type of policies, someone whose life got upended through no fault of my own, and just need help from the systems in place until I can properly reintegrate. Ultimately I’ll be fine—I have no choice but to think that—but I’m sure many will not be, and it’s frustrating to see time and time again that our government has no interest in keeping people safe or healthy.

To sum up these last few months, as corny as it is to continually say, I’m so thankful for every day I’m still around and I’m endlessly grateful for everyone in my life who supports me. As I’m reconnecting with people I haven’t spoken to in a while, a recurring statement I’ve been hearing is that they wish they said something earlier, but just didn’t know what to say. I’m about 35 percent understanding of this, but I do see how it can be a strange situation. I know I would’ve appreciated any support I could get, because any words are better than nothing in this situation. Because of this, something I want to work on in my life is to reach out to people more, to check in on them when they’re going through rough moments and celebrate their accomplishments, be there for the good and the bad, and make sure I show appreciation for everyone in my life. Thank you for reading, and for all your support. Six months of remission down, the rest of a healthy life to go!