Hello campers, grab your marshmallows and gather around the true crime campfire.

Wear your camp counselors, I'm Katie, and I'm Whitney.

And we're here to tell you a true story that is way stranger than fiction, or roasting

murderers and marshmallows around the true crime campfire.

No matter how many apples you eat in a day, you're gonna eventually have to

go see the doctor.

It's an unfortunate but necessary part of the human experience to go into that cold little

room, put on a gown with no back, try not to gag on the tongue depressor, and hold your

breath while they stick a needle in your arm.

It's not fun, and it's bad enough without having to worry about whether the doctor who's

doing it to you is qualified to be there.

We put a lot of faith in our healthcare providers.

Sometimes we put our actual lives in their hands.

It's high-stakes stuff.

But as stories like Dr. Death have taught us, our faith isn't always well placed.

Join us for one of the most audacious cases of medical malpractice we've ever heard

of.

And forgive us in advance if it haunts your nightmares.

This is Mr. Neverwuzz, the story of Dr. Gerald Barnes.

So, campers, for this one we're at the upscale Pacific Southwest medical group clinic in Irvine,

California, December 27, 1979.

A physician's assistant named Rick Delisandro was going over some lab results from the day

...