The stories vary from how he knew when someone was going to die ("a dull, waxy, yellowish light accumulates around those who are about to die") to his horrific descriptions of the Shriners Burn Institute, which the residents, in an effort to distance themselves from the small suffering bodies, nicknamed
Crispy Critters. During his internship there, the author worked with children in the ICU swathed in bandages like mummies, who, if they survived, when on to "Camp Chronic" ward, where they endured endless rounds of reconstructive surgery.