Teal

 

Hospital in May

Interdependence is the ground rule of hospital. Not one person I meet is out of place, doctors, surgeons, nurses, kitchen staff, cleaners, visitors, patients. I watch each person with a certain wonder as they go about their business, the business of ananke, or necessity. Independence, likewise, is made present to me in hospital. Although a patient must listen to every new development in a state of pure dependence, undivided attention, the sense of independent personhood is reinforced by all of those around me. I have hours in which my mind may wander and reflect, before the next blood pressure test. The curtains around my bed slide on a susurrus of aluminium railings, their soft fabric concertinaing from a standing position into a broad sky of the kind painted by Pierre Bonnard. Hooks hold up this sky that supports the occasional vertical column of shaded cloud and is entirely the colour of teal. It is a soothing sight as the mind tries not to think about diagnoses or procedures, or politics even. Many an email and text message tells me to rest and not worry about what’s happening now at work, or the tragic change in world events, or why the prime minister is a dropkick. Teal is the colour of the facemasks that must be worn by all visitors to the hospital; teal gives visitors the appearance of duckbills moving about with friendly intent. It is the colour of much of the signage in the wards, the bed numbers. The designer of the modern Austin Hospital had inlayed teal facings in lines all around the exterior of the buildings, a basic design feature that has been picked up and quoted ever since, right down to the bed curtains. Teal is immediately in the mind ducks, of course. I seem to recall a brand of Mildara sherry named for teal ducks: is it an oloroso, and do they still manufacture it? Teal feathers are the shining wing feathers that flash, an instant distinction. Kingfishers are good at that as well. Flights of teal thoughts divert before visitors arrive, Bridie and Carol with masks, New Yorkers, manga books, fresh clothes, and postal vote forms. Politics again, but then it’s the season, right? Bridie examines the Senate voting form, commenting that last election she noticed it’s twice the length of the cardboard voting booth. Now she can vote. We talk about how Kooyong could do a Mackellar in colour language. If Blue and Teal get about the same number of votes, then Red and Green send their preferences to Teal, Blue will lose its blue-ribbon seat. This is making for an interesting contest in many electorates, though not Jagajaga in Austin Hospital country, which has been Labor for generations. Teal might be a combination of Blue and Green, but that’s not the whole story in this case.