“Human kindness is overflowing but I think it’s gonna rain tonight!”

A friend reminded me of this lyric after I shared a picture on the gruelling effect chemo has on the body. I want to start by saying thank you to everyone for the human kindness—so far it’s been unbelievable! Big shoutout to my own nearest and dearest for putting up with my antics over the last couple of month! I love you!


Well, for once it isn’t raining in Ireland. It’s snowing! A new layer of complication and self reflection and the message that each one of us is Blessed.


I am now over 75% the way through my chemotherapy (Mvac) and this coming Monday and Tuesday will take rounds 7/8 which by the grace of god will complete my journey and I will start the road back to full health.


Thursday the 15th I will rescan and again the doctors will hold all the card on how it plays out. This terrifies me and motivates all at the same time. I’ve learned that as physical as cancer is, the game is ultimately played and won in the mind.


Letting go of the constant thoughts running through our heads opens up the gateway to our true being.


I have one outcome in my set in my mind! Can you take a guess at what that is?



Is this hope? Is this just a fantasy? But how do you  hope without fantasy? I’ve been thinking about that lately, trying to find hope without denial. Denial of my health symptoms is what made me ignore my serious health issues for a long time before I was diagnosed with cancer. But hope is what keeps me in the positive mental state enough to keep going.


How do I hope with honesty towards myself? I have been carefully checking my heart over this process to make sure I’m staying balanced, and the last two weeks have been making hope come alive in my heart. Hope is concrete, reality. Fantasy is all in your head.


And lately, my reality has been both terrible and wonderful at the same time.


Last week I did a shoot with the amazing Juliana Scodeler to try capture the moment and express what I’ve been lacking in words. (Insert photo ) That evening I walked the red carpet for “The gossies” and went home with the “Best Music Act” award.


Was that divine timing? To me, it signified a sense of certainty and hope that “this too shall pass.” It was a simple nod that I’ve been holding the perfect space of reality, while maintaining hopefulness in a realistic way.


It really felt like my “staring the lion in the face” moment. I wasn’t afraid, and I ended up walking away with the prize, even though just a nomination was an honor, and would have been more than enough.


You have the ability to choose which way you lean in every moment—the noise will come, the report will come, the scan will come, the outcome will make itself known. And through it all, we have to have concrete hope through our reality.


Like the drugs, I’ve let the news, both good and bad, pass through my body. The noise that my mind makes is no different than the chemicals that is pushed through my body. It’s what you ultimately chose to give your energy too that matters.


I’m giving my energy to awareness, hope and being present right now.


Share what you’re feeling. Talk about it. Check in with yourself. Evoke change now, so you don’t get caught off guard or side swiped by the storm.


Love and Light



Hair Today – Gone Tomorrow

It’s week three of treatment. I’ve got the drill down, I know how it will make me feel, when the nausea will strike, how long I’ll sleep, what I can eat to feel better.


Before each chemo round, I have a routine to prepare myself mentally.


I practically bounced into the hospital on Monday ready to face the challenge. When I arrived, they completed blood tests and I was told that my neutrophils were 0.1 (a tenth of where they needed to be), so after the nurses and consultants took some time to deliberate, they cancelled chemo for that day.


My body was not playing ball, and was clearly not responding well to treatment. My neutrophils being down translates as “Hey your immune system is shot, and you will have nothing to fight a simple cold or flu and we can’t take that risk,”


I was feeling so well that morning and was totally thrown with the fact that my mind was telling me one thing yet my blood from a physical perspective was saying, “OH NO NO.“


Naturally I felt relief that I got to avoid the vomiting, the imprint of the tile floor on my hands and knees from hugging the toilet for a few days. That morning, I’d been brimming with lyrics and melodies, but then I felt something other than sickness, I’d felt an  eagerness to get well and get back to what I love— my music world.


That hit to my health-confidence hit me that day. Just like I’d felt fine the last year, but my body was raging with stage 3 bladder cancer, that morning I’d felt fine, was planning my next steps in music and how after this was done i Want to simply get on the road and SING, and the nurses had bad news for me. My body hadn’t even been well enough to inject cancer-killing poison into it.


My Reality


I’ve been learning the difference between reality and fantasy lately, and how to be positive within my reality, rather than ignoring it in order to stay positive. I can be happy and have cancer. I can be whole and also sad about my circumstances. I can be afraid and still courageous about what is happening. Everyone is different regarding their journey, please feel free to share yours with me, Just reach out at any point Keithcullengm@yahoo.ie


“it takes a lot of strength to share yourself with someone else” A lyric of one of my songs written 5 years ago is back to remind why it was written!


Yesterday I stood in the shower, and for the first time, I had clumps of my body hair in my hand. As that was a particular fear of mine, As part of my treatment i am doing the “cold cap” (they basically freeze your head to stop the chemo targeting that area and have a 30% chance of working). I said I would take a 3/10 chance over none. Who knows if the pain of it is worth it from a vanity and identity point of view?


Hair has always been a touchy point for me. I was 18 when I started losing my hair, and at the age of 25 I had a hair transplant because I was so embarrassed. It was something I tried to fix and I succeeded.


Now, honestly, as much as I love the hair on my head, I’m fully ready to embrace the fact life will go on with or without it! I do wonder if i can pull off the bald emoji look.


Ladies I can’t speak for you, but I can imagine, as hair is such of part of modern day norms in terms of beauty that to have to face the loss of your lucious locks comes as shock and for some is tied to confidence and self esteem. I’m learning to give up my attachments to any body parts and truly appreciate the hard work the body does to keep me alive and deal with the drama it’s thrown day to day.


The outpouring from people, far and wide, the last 2 weeks has been a truly humbling and pure test of the amount of goodness there truly is in the world. People have shared their intimate stories of struggles, and assisted in lighting up some of my darker days.


With the thousands of messages that came in, each one of them was like an injection of  healing light that couldn’t have come at a better time. Being new to cancer and to chemotherapy I hadn’t imagined it would force me to be so brutally honest and reflective as I currently am.


Each decision I make now has meaning and the value attached to survival and being a source of good has never been stronger at the forefront of my mind.


I’ve been gracefully broken and now am  focused on rebuilding a stronger, more knowledgable, kinder Keith who surrenders to what my new path and will continue to keep my arms wide open to lifes opportunities whilst doing some good along the way.





P.s The cat nor the dog have left my side (animals are way smarter than we give them credit for)