“Why not just focus on caregiving?” a listener asked me on my radio show for family caregivers. While he liked the program, he was a bit irritated by my political engagement, saying, “I thought you would listen.”
Fair point, I thought. So I did listen—noticing the truths of our situation as I did mundane tasks like dishes and laundry. He wanted to know my perspective.
Every day, I talk with families dealing with traumatic injuries, dementia, and chronic illnesses. Caregivers have to be grounded in reality. In the U.S., family caregivers provide over $1 trillion in unpaid care each year. We’re there at the kitchen table, overwhelmed by medical bills and insurance statements, striving to keep loved ones safe and healthy.
We are conscious of every penny. Yes, we know grocery prices, but we also calculate how much wound care supplies cost, or the impact of a single wheelchair repair on our finances. And yet, we’re also seeing billions in taxpayer dollars disappearing into fraud, often through “quality learning centers,” leaving struggling families even more burdened.
Caregiving quickly exposes harsh realities. I felt frustration seeing leaders preach about “compassion” while families are silently suffering at home.
Recently, while preparing for prostate treatment, I was hit by a question on the medical form: which gender I identify with and was assigned at birth. I pondered this for a moment—this entire transgender discussion seems focused on virtue signaling until a person with a prostate needs a prostate exam.
Prostate cancer doesn’t care about gender identity.
I asked the caller, “What political view do you think I’m expressing?” When society struggles to define basic terms like ‘male’ and ‘female,’ particularly in medicine, something deep within us fractures.
My wife lost her legs due to injuries sustained in a car accident years ago. Our sons never suggested, “Should I have my leg amputated like Mom?” If they had, I would have sought help for them. And if a doctor proposed such a thing for a confused child, I would have reported them immediately.
So, I asked, “Which political party is okay with removing healthy body parts from a child?” The silence that followed encouraged me to push further. “Wondering why I don’t stick to caregiving?”
I explained that I’m not here to merely support Republicans, but the current political climate seems increasingly resistant to straightforward biological and ethical realities—something significant for caregivers who encounter these truths daily.
When I asked the caller what he appreciated about the Democratic Party, he mentioned repeatedly that “Democrats seem to care.” But the word “likely” caught my attention.
What are the reasons to permit millions of undocumented immigrants into systems that are already under strain, all while businesses profit from cheaper labor? Is it truly compassionate to enable addiction or encourage irreversible medical procedures for troubled minors? How is denying biological truths a sign of sympathy?
Political parties are about power. The government’s job isn’t to love us; it’s to uphold justice, protect liberties, and create a space for families to thrive. That’s different from emotional campaigning.
I recalled a moment when everything changed for me as a broadcaster. I watched President Obama address Planned Parenthood and say, “God bless Planned Parenthood.” I wondered, “Which God?” The God who instructed us against killing?
I then asked the caller, a Christian, about his handshake approach. He agreed with much of my stance. “I feel I should say something,” he admitted. “And that’s my role on the show.”
Next, I asked him for any current major idea from the Democratic Party that could strengthen the country. “They lack power,” he replied. “Ideas wield power,” I countered. “This isn’t just anti-Trump sentiment; it’s about real ideas.”
Eventually, he conceded, “I can’t think of anything, and I don’t follow the news.”
I encouraged him to reach out if he heard of a Democratic initiative that made him think, “That’s beneficial for America.”
People often grow weary of political chaos, which I can empathize with. But turning away from politics doesn’t mean we should ignore the moral implications of our surroundings. I’m not interested in politics for the thrill of competition; in my own cancer treatment process, political questions emerged as immediate concerns.
Every day, caregivers confront stark realities.
In the consulting room, it’s those realities that must dictate the outcomes.
