Sold

My Mom and I were running errands. 
First, I got to see a new dermatologist about my acne.  My Mother is very particular about what I look like.  I was having a really bad day, acne-wise.  The dermatologist looked me over, suggested I try one thing and told me to keep using something I already was and then left. 
After we got done there, we began our search for places for my Grandma's rehab.  She has to go, again, it turns out, after getting out of rehab less than three months ago.  Since the last place didn't really do her much good (as she's going back again), we decided to look around at other places. 
The first place looked a little like a dentist office from the outside.  Windows with curtains drawn, simple brick side.  We went inside and requested a tour.
A woman in her early thirties showed us around.  She walked us first through the long-term care, which was were my Grandma wasn't going to go since she would hopefully only be there for a few weeks.  The walls were decorated with fancy wallpaper that made me think of fancy old homes.  The long term ward was decorated in an off-white wallpaper, but the floor my Grandma would be on, one for short-term stays, would be green.
The woman showed us in a sample room.  One old woman was laying down in a bed.  She looked like she was just about to fall asleep.  The set up of the room was two people per room, with a curtain to draw if you wanted a little privacy.
"What about a tv?" my Mom asked.
"We provide that if you pay 3.50." 
"And internet?"
"Sorry, we don't have any access to that here." 
I could tell that my Mom was trying to piece together a way for her to be with my Grandma a lot without completely forgetting her work.  A lot of the paperwork my Mom does is online, which is what she does when she spend days and days over at my Grandma's place.  She's there to watch her in case something happens, but she has a job to do too.  Without internet access, it was going to be hard for her to stay as long.  It also meant I and my sister might have to pick up the slack, which is fine. 
The woman also showed us the rehab rooms.  There were all the usual things that I had come to expect there, like stairs to practice walking on, and a fake kitchen for occupational therapy, and those big bouncy balls, and bikes and fake beds to practice getting in and out of.  There were therapists and patients milling about.  The walls were all painted pale yellow and green, and there were words of encouragement on the walls.  There was a table on the side with lemonade on it, and I wanted to try some myself, just because I hadn't had anything to eat in so long. 
The woman showed us a conference room, and said that every patient had a weekly conference with the doctors, nurses, therapists and family members. 
"Sold," I thought.  This was one of the many things that had made my Mom so mad about the last time my Grandma was in therapy.  Inside, one of these conferences looked like it was going on right now.  The woman led us away, back to the front offices.