Chapter Eleven

      Lucy knew which cat wanted to be held and which one wanted to be smacked. The weight she put on things so often struck me as backwards, but in some ways she had a deep understanding of the logic of the world. I would have thought that the prospect of getting teeth after twenty years spent without them would have been thrilling or daunting, but she shrugged it off. She had no interest in obsessing over possible outcomes. She would simply go and see what they had to say and that was all there was to do. And she was right.

--From Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty

Getting teeth. Most of her teeth was gone because of radioactivity since she was ten. So chewing and swallowing was a very strenuous undertaking for Lucy. She was humiliated lest anyone see her drooling, unclosed mouth. She was embarrassed to eat in front of people. So getting teeth was supposed to be exciting for her. After talking with good doctors who suggested her nearly impossible options, she cried. But Lucy didn't lose hope. Perhaps she was so hopeful that she chased after even the most impossible.