Okay. My standard answer to most inquires. It's a bit aloof at times, even esoteric, but seems to nearly always fit. Oh-kay - with a curious smile and slight shrug - leans positive with a bit of surprise. Okay - abrupt with downcast eyes and a hint of surrender - ventures into not exactly okay but rather a feeble attempt at bright side hyperbole. Even on a great day when asked, okay seems the only appropriate response. I asked Louie last week how he felt about everything on the horizon and his answer? Okay. People have pontificated for decades on the generosity of the word okay so I'll stop here.
So today was okay. It began at midnight, as they do, with the first of Louie's 'baths'. These entail every square centimeter of Louie to be wiped down, clothing and sheets changed as well as his chest port uncovered, wiped underneath and redressed. He received the same two drugs today; one emits from the skin and if it's not cleaned every 6 hours he will get a chemical burn. We call it The Royal Bath. He seemed to feel progressively worse as the day wore on but before we fell asleep he witnessed me miss two baskets and said "ha ha" (a la Nelson Muntz). Louie's okay.