“Good grief, she’s huge,” came as expected, before the door even shut. “She must weigh a hundred pounds more than she did when I saw her last.” Sheila’s mother came around the bed and sat in the large depression Gwen left in the seat of the brown chair.

“Come on, Mom. I still weigh over 300, and Gwen’s no bigger than me. Those words don’t help anyone.”

“Well, but you’re going to get better now. As soon as you’re out of here, we can go back to Dr. Miller, and start shaping you up.”

“You mean shaping me down. And it’s not happening.”

“Now honey. Don’t be impatient with me. Maybe Gwen can go with you this time. She doesn’t need her parents’ permission now. We can work out a way to help her pay for it.”

“Mom, Gwen does okay. I mean, she’s not wealthy or anything, but she can afford what she needs. So can I. We’re not going back to Dr. Miller.”

“We shouldn’t talk about this right now. I can see that you’re tired.” Sheila’s mother tried to adjust the pillow for her. She pulled the sheet-wrapped blanket higher on Sheila’s chest. “You rest now, honey, and we’ll talk more tomorrow. I’ll come by right after work.”

Her mother left but Sheila didn’t rest. She used that night to cry. The last surgical drain had been removed that day, and for the first time since her birthday, when she awoke to excruciating pain and her medical crisis commenced, Sheila knew that she would live. Up till then she’d been busy paying attention to the progress of her condition, contending with the pain and with her mother. But that night, she knew she’d live and leave the hospital.

She tried to think about what she wanted to do. She got nowhere. She thought instead about what she didn’t want to do. She didn’t want to go to her parents’ home. She wouldn’t return to her old condo. She may not get any smaller, but she didn’t want to gain back to her old weight. She wanted to be able to move around.

She slept some. She watched a hospital video about prostate procedures. She thought some more. Tears continued to leak from the outer corners of her eyes.

She was upright and fresh when Gwen showed up at 12:30. The nurse had gotten her out of bed that morning and she’d walked for almost ten minutes, pushing her IV rig ahead of her as she shuffled down the corridor in her slippers. She noticed chart racks on the walls beside room doors, and a courtyard outside the windows. She imagined walking outdoors.

Gwen brought flowers and real estate ads.

“Hi, Gwen,” Sheila almost sang. “Want to diet?”

“Hi yourself. And ‘no.’ But I want to look for a place with privacy, a pool, some open space. I’ve thought about it and want to use a chunk of my winnings for a down payment. I can carry the mortgage on my salary, and I can save the rest of my windfall.” She arranged the flowers in a green vase and set them on the windowsill. “I could use a housemate and investor.”

“You’re on. Thank Mom for making me realize what I don’t want.”

“You thank Mom. I’d rather look at real estate ads.” Gwen moved back around the bed to her chair and unfolded the newspaper. Several sections slipped to the floor, but she left them there as she read. “Here’s a two bedroom, two bath, with a pool, a couple of miles out of town. Look: the price is right.” She passed the section to Sheila.

“We’d need a car to get around.”

“I can swing that and still have money to save. We can buy bicycles too. When the weather’s good, we can get around on them. Maybe. For now we’ll use a car.”

“For now, we’ll use our feet. Let’s take a walk.” Sheila grabbed the triangle above the bed and began the long process of moving her legs off the side.

“Now?”

“Why not? It’s a beginning.”

Gwen rose to help her. Together they got Sheila off the bed and began their first post-operative, post-lottery walk. Together again, the same and ever different, the two young women started down the long corridor.