Many of the patients I saw had been fuelled by the same sentiment. One group of young men had spent thirty-six hours straight ferrying their East Houston neighbors to dry land. So exhausted was one from the wading and the lifting and the weight of wet clothes that he started to shake like he was having a seizure. He held a blanket over his shoulders as he showed me photos on his smartphone of the rescues he had performed. “We were helping cancer patients,” he said. Not long afterward, a towering box of thick new beach towels arrived, a wonderful sight. I asked my hypothermic patient to wrap her feet in one and to hug herself with another. After her temperature climbed back to normal, she walked out of the medical area, giving me a thumbs-up. On the way, she passed a cancer patient who had been on the cusp of starting treatment when Hurricane Harvey arrived. He seemed angry, frightened. “I want to focus on your pain,” I said, in my best attempt to reassure.