Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart. (John Cale live version)

If Lou Reed or John Cale were on chemo, they could sing they were tired, they were weary, they could sleep for a thousand years. Lou is gone now and never will have to, and I do hope John never has to.

Just back from chemo session #2. It went well, with no adverse effects. I’m feeling quite normal at the moment.

Yesterday, we had the Oncology clinic session. They told me I don’t have the K-RAS mutation so that means I can have the monoclonal antibody drug treatment (Cetuximab) I previously mentioned. This is a colourless liquid that is also administered as a drip into a vein (intravenous infusion). It will just be added to the four or five other bags of fluid that they drip into me over a few hours. Only difference is that it’s a weekly treatment and the FOLFIRI is bi-weekly.

Thinking about Lou Reed, I’ve always been very fond of the song “Kill Your Sons” from the ill-regarded Sally Can’t Dance album. I thought it’s a good song, but typical Lou Reed histrionics. Then you read in the guy’s obituary that his parents institutionalized him as a young man to ‘cure’ his homosexuality. Life is stranger and stronger than any fiction.

Right now I’m looking forward to a gig in London this Friday – William Fitzsimmons at the Garage. Bit of a nice dinner beforehand, it should be a good night out with B. I’ll add it to sitting in The Emirates watching Arsenal stuff Sunderland 4-1 as more evidence that I’m in control here, not Cancer. At least until it carries me off 😦