My sneakers crunched on the gravel as we climbed the long driveway. I was trailing behind my caseworker from family services, watching her tight bun bob up and down.

“Come on now, we haven’t got all day.” She encourages me to hurry along. Her pace was brisk and gave no opportunity for me to ask questions. She often took me along with her to run errands during our weekly visits. The bank, grocery store, dry cleaners — I didn’t get out much and any break from the group home was welcome. Today, though, I had no idea what her plan was.

I finally got a chance to catch my breath as we neared the front door. “Women’s Sanitarium”, a polished sign above it read in glossy white letters. We weren’t more than fifteen minutes from the city, so it was strange to me that I’d never seen this place before. It had a huge, sprawling front lawn and had to be at least four stories tall. It looked almost like a large school building. Finely trimmed hedges framed the front entry and a sign read above the door, “Welcome, have ID ready.”

She flashes her card and the door opens to a long, bright hallway which smells vaguely of antiseptic. “Now listen, this won’t be long,” the caseworker says to me. “I just need to drop off some files here.” I nod my head at her, more busy with following the patterns in the green tiled walls than anything she had to say. As we arrived at the front desk, a woman appeared to meet us. The caseworker presented a thin manila folder to the woman, who thumbed through its contents.

“Everything seems to be in order, if you could follow me this way.” We trudge on down the first hallway, which turns sharply to the left and leads us into a smaller corridor. She takes us into the second room on the right.

I wasn’t paying much attention, until she flicked on the light revealing a sort of examination room.

My caseworker turns to me and says, “Have a seat in that chair over there, we’ll be just outside going over some paperwork. Thanks for your patience, I should be done soon and have you back to the home by lunch.”

I slip into an office chair in the corner of the room and spin around in it a few times. The room is large, clean and bright. There is a wall of cabinets with a sink on the left hand side, and the right side of the room is covered with a few health posters. The back wall is bare, except for a few windows at top which are too high to see out of. In the center is a large examination chair, with several pieces that look like they can fold at the mid section. An adjustable light hangs over the chair, but it is turned off now. I wonder to myself what business the caseworker might have in a place like this.

Just then I head a knock at the door.