IVF Tore This Family Apart Before It Even Began
The fertility industry promotes IVF as a safety net that gives people like Millender the option to delay or outsource childbearing, but it’s really a trap that is far from foolproof.Do you matter? Does what you do matter? Are you doing anything at all? Does your will have any impact on the world? Are you living with vitality?
Or are you just a hamster on a wheel in a little cage in the back of a middle school classroom thinking you are doing something when really you are just wasting your time here until lights out?
Because we can all do it, we forget that it’s special. It’s so ordinary, we forget it’s extraordinary.
To answer the first question: You do matter, and what you do matters. It doesn’t matter who you are; you matter, and you have an impact on the world. Maybe it’s a big one, or maybe it’s a little one. But even something as simple as saying good morning and smiling to the cashier who rings up your pack of cigarettes and full tank of gas is some kind of something or some kind of impact on someone else’s world.
But are you living with vitality? That’s not quite as simple. That bit about the hamster wasting time dinking around on the wheel — that’s certainly a depressing scene, but it’s a feeling all too common in a world in which many of our physical needs are satisfied whether we really do anything at all.
Everyone matters in our world, and everyone matters to someone. That’s a fact. But everyone doesn’t feel like they do, and many don’t feel like they are living a very vital life either. The hamster-wheel job that’s stable and hard to lose, the climate-controlled car that tells you when to slow down. An uneventful and seemingly predictable life finished off with some controlled simulated struggle at the gym three nights a week without an end, a shock, or a surprise in sight.
Some people dull the pain of the malaise with drugs, others zone out with Netflix or the internet.
Still others seem to think that the only way to feel alive in our age is by seeking out extremes: dangerous travel, feats of endurance, and any other pursuit risking life and limb.
Fine for those who have the opportunity, I suppose. But honestly, vitality can be found much closer to home.
The real truth is that the most vital thing you can do in the year 2026 is something that just about everyone can do: raise a family.
Falling in love, getting married, having children, and raising a family is the last real, and completely real, thing on planet Earth.
It doesn’t matter if everything becomes entirely fake. It doesn’t matter if everyone has fake jobs, if no one owns anything for longer than six months, if all the food is processed, if all the appliances are designed with planned obsolescence in mind, and if AI takes care of just about all our needs. The entire world could be completely fake. But one last real thing will remain: family.
And it is the realness of the family that matters and that makes it so vital. When we raise a family, we are completely crucial. Our decisions determine real-world outcomes, both short term and long term. The family is not a theory or spreadsheet. It’s not a surrogate activity that stands in simply for the sake of simulating some kind of other struggle.
The family is real.
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A looming intuition in our postmodern, anti-vitalistic ennui is the feeling that we don’t have any control. Our health insurance policies, our jobs, the new charges that don’t make any sense on the phone bill, the screwed up politics, the fact that you can’t even talk to someone who speaks English on the phone anymore when you need something fixed, and that nothing seems to last very long either, and no one cares.
But of course, there is one domain where we are monarchs no matter how lowly our job or how faceless the large systems that govern our society may be.
The family.
A mother is a queen, and a father is a king. What Mom and Dad say goes. Mom and Dad don’t answer to anyone. They don’t need to ask permission, and they won’t be reprimanded by HR. When you are a parent, you are a monarch of a micro-kingdom. That might sound weird, but that’s the way to think about it. You dictate the religion, the calendar, the diet, the schedule, the language, the attitude, and everything about family life.
It’s here, in this domain, where the most potent and impactful kind of vitalism still lives and will always live. Cultivating new life is the definition of impacting the world and the future. Yes, your kingdom might be small, but your impact is total, and it’s all yours.
Your vision is what matters. You are in control. What could possibly be more vital than conceiving children, naming them, raising them, teaching them, and then eventually sending them off to do the same things with the tools and ways they learned from you? You are creating a dynasty.
Because we can all do it, we forget that it’s special. It’s so ordinary, we forget it’s extraordinary. We might devote so much time and energy to thinking about money, influence, stability, the markets, the Middle East, geopolitics, sports, and work, but by far the most real and most vital thing you can do in 2026 is a seemingly most ordinary thing.
Raise a family.
“Why not just stay in your lane and focus on caregivers?”
A listener to my radio program for family caregivers reached out recently with that question. He appreciated the program, he said, but felt troubled when I “went political.” Then he added, “I reached out because I thought you would listen.”
People retreat from politics because the noise exhausts them. But avoiding politics and refusing to morally examine the world unfolding around us are not the same thing.
Fair enough. So I did. I listened while doing dishes and folding laundry because that is caregiver life. Then he asked what I thought.
I spend my days speaking with families navigating catastrophic injury, dementia, trauma, chronic illness, memory care centers, prosthetics, bureaucratic failure, and exhaustion. Caregivers do not have the luxury of pretending reality is negotiable. Family caregivers now provide more than $1 trillion worth of unpaid care annually in the United States. We sit at kitchen tables staring at medical bills, insurance statements, pharmacy receipts, and impossible spreadsheets while trying to keep another human being alive, safe, and cared for.
We pinch pennies. We know what groceries cost, but we also know the price of wound care supplies. We know what one wheelchair repair can do to a monthly budget. Meanwhile, we keep discovering billions in taxpayer dollars flowing through fraud and “quality learing centers” bilking people already struggling to pay the IRS.
Caregivers notice things like that because caregiving quickly introduces a person to reality. So yes, I have become exasperated watching people in power lecture the country about “compassion” while families quietly drown at their kitchen tables.
Recently, I was at a cancer center preparing for prostate treatment. Before I reached the medical history section, the form opened with questions asking what sex I identify as and what sex I was assigned at birth. I sat there staring at the page for a moment and thought: This whole trans movement seems built for virtue signaling until “she/her” has to get “her” prostate checked.
Prostate cancer does not care how I identify.
Then I asked the caller a question: “Which political worldview do you think put that language on that form?” When a civilization loses the ability to say plainly what a man or woman is, even inside medicine, something foundational has broken.
My wife lost both legs after years of struggling with catastrophic injuries from a car accident decades ago. Not once did either of our sons say, “I think I should amputate my leg to look like Mom.” Had they done so, I would have sought psychiatric help immediately. If a physician had offered to remove healthy body parts from a confused child, I would have reported that doctor immediately.
Again, I asked the caller, “Which political party aligned itself with removing healthy body parts from children?” In his silence, I pressed further: “And you’re wondering why I’m not staying in my lane?”
I told him I am not here to carry water for the Republican Party. But right now, only one major political movement seems increasingly hostile to objective, biological, and theological reality. That matters to caregivers because we deal in reality every day.
I asked him point-blank, “What do you actually like about the Democratic Party?” He repeated a phrase I have heard for years: “Democrats seem to be the party that cares.” The word “seem” leapt out.
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So I asked what exactly was caring about any of this. What is caring about allowing millions of illegal immigrants to overwhelm already strained schools, hospitals, and social systems while corporations benefit from cheap labor and America absorbs the consequences? What is caring about enabling addiction and destructive behavior? What is caring about encouraging irreversible medical interventions for confused children? What is caring about demanding that citizens deny biological reality to prove compassion?
Political parties do not care. They exist to wield power. Government’s role is not to love us. Its role is to preserve equal justice, protect liberty, and provide conditions where citizens can work, worship, raise families, and pursue opportunity. That is very different from emotional branding.
I also shared the moment something changed for me as a broadcaster. I watched Barack Obama stand before Planned Parenthood as president of the United States and say, “God bless Planned Parenthood.” I remember thinking: Which God? The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob? The God who said, “You shall not murder"?
I asked the caller, who professed Christianity, “How do you shake hands with that?” He said he agreed with much of what I said. “How would anyone know?” I asked. “I guess I have to say something,” he replied. “And that’s what I do on my show.”
Then, I asked him to name one major idea currently being advanced by Democrats that he believed would genuinely strengthen the country. “They’re not in power,” he protested. “Ideas are power,” I countered. “Give me one. Not opposition to Donald Trump. An actual idea.”
Finally, he admitted, “I can’t think of anything, and I haven’t been paying attention to the news.”
I told him, “You have my number. If you come up with one major idea being advanced by Democrats that makes you say, ‘This is genuinely good for America,’ let me know, and I’ll talk about it on my program.”
People retreat from politics because the noise exhausts them. I understand that. But avoiding politics and refusing to morally examine the world unfolding around us are not the same thing. I do not drift into politics for sport. I was preparing for prostate cancer treatment when politics invaded the top of the questionnaire.
Caregivers deal with reality every single day.
And in the exam room, reality should have the last word.
Pope Leo XIV urged European leaders on Monday to get in gear and address the continent's demographic crisis by reinforcing the family and affirming the dignity of human life.
The pope's call to action comes amid a severe demographic collapse that threatens not only Europe's social and economic stability but the cultural identities and destinies of various nations.
'A rejection of the Christian inspiration of the founding fathers of the EU institutions has led to a time of drastic sterility.'
The number of live births in Europe per 1,000 persons in 1970 was 16.4. By 2024, the crude birth rate had fallen to 7.9.
According to Eurostat, the European Union's total fertility rate — the average number of kids born to a woman over her lifetime — stood at 1.34 live births in 2024. Of the children born that year, nearly one in four have a foreign-born mother.
The fertility rate necessary for a population to maintain stability and replenish itself without requiring replacement by foreign nationals — what is referred to as replacement-level fertility — is 2.1.
Even when factoring in Europeans' replacement by foreigners, statisticians project the EU's population will fall by 11.7% between now and 2100 — from roughly 452 million to 399 million. Among the countries expected to thin out are Portugal, Italy, Greece, and Poland, projected to suffer population declines of 19.3%, 24%, 30.1%, and 31.6%, respectively.
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In his address this week to European officials, including members of the European Parliament's Intergroup on Demography, Pope Leo stressed that the continent's demographic crisis "stands as a crucial juncture for the anthropological, social, and economic future of Europe."
Echoing his predecessor, Pope Francis, Pope Leo said that Europe is not becoming the "old continent" because "of its glorious history, but because of its advancing age."
After emphasizing that "children are the future," Pope Leo noted that "a rejection of the Christian inspiration of the founding fathers of the EU institutions has led to a time of drastic sterility, not only because too many have been deprived of the right to be born, but also because there has been a failure to pass on the material and cultural tools that young people need to face the future."
In addition to faulting the Europeans for increasingly abandoning their Christian roots, the pope reprimanded them for Trojan-horsing the means of their demographic demise into policies advertised as "family-friendly" — policies that he said "simultaneously promote discrimination against motherhood, exalt abortion as a right, and undermine the very foundation of the desire to start a family."
To both address the demographic challenge at hand and counter the "two extremes of excessive state intervention and individualism," the Roman pontiff noted that Europeans must respect and promote the central place of the family — which "is founded on marriage between a man and a woman" — and apply the principle of subsidiarity.
"Only a fresh springtide for the family can transform the winter chill of our aging populations," said the pope.
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I got off the plane in Grand Rapids, Michigan, took my bag from the carousel, exited the terminal through the sliding doors, and headed past the shuttle stop toward the parking garage. So far everything had gone as smoothly as modern air travel can.
Then I got to the Enterprise car rental desk.
If you can’t rely on a confirmed reservation for a car, what are we even doing here?
The young man at the desk was friendly, although he offered some surprising news concerning the transportation I’d reserved just the night before.
“We don’t have a car for you.”
I asked him why, exactly, mentioning the confirmation email I had on my phone. He told me that they simply didn’t have any more cars and that the system was messed up and that he was sorry for the inconvenience and that the soonest I might — key word being might — be able to get one would be 10 p.m. the following evening.
Not great.
I left, pulled up Google on my phone, and found another Enterprise location in another part of the city. I made a reservation for a few hours later and received another confirmation email. Just to be thorough, I then called up the branch to make sure they did indeed have a car for me.
They didn’t.
It was the same conversation as before, but this time the worker told me they wouldn’t have a car for two days. He apologized for the inconvenience, a word I have to admit I peevishly found inadequate for my current dilemma. But then, I had just flown from Milan to Chicago and Chicago to Grand Rapids — after 23 hours without sleep — and so was uncommonly eager to get to my final destination. Which, even should I procure a car, would entail a good four hour’s drive.
There is a “Seinfeld” bit about this. What’s the point of the reservation if you can’t fulfill the reservation?
Seinfeld, of course, does the bit very funny. But it’s not really so funny, or at least it’s not so funny when you are the one in the midst of trying to claim a car reservation that apparently can’t be filled. Renting a car to get to the airport hadn’t been a problem; why was it impossible now that I wanted to go home?
I sat there wondering what I should do.
I thought, do I stay the night in a hotel in the hope of getting my hands on a car the next day? No, I don’t want to waste the money. Do I call my wife and ask her to pile all three kids in the car, drive four hours down to pick me up, and then drive four hours back home again? Absolutely not. That would be hell for her, and she does more than enough.
I sat there rather irritated at the situation I found myself in. I have had my fair share of detours when on the road, sure. Sometimes travel plans change and you have to adapt. But if you can’t rely on a confirmed reservation for a car, what are we even doing here?
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So I thought and thought, and I remembered that buses exist.
I hadn’t taken one in years, but it turned out they hadn't gone the way of free checked bags and wearing actual pants on flights. Sure, it’s worse than a rental car, but it might get the job done. So I checked the schedule, found my route, and bought a non-refundable ticket for $54.
The bus to St. Ignace wasn’t terribly full Tuesday afternoon. There were only a few of us riding the great steel chariot north. Some old people, a couple of guys in worn jeans and construction boots, and a young guy — a college student — heading back to school at Michigan Tech in Houghton.
He brought a heavy backpack, a suitcase, and a set of golf clubs. He told me that after getting to St. Ignace, he would transfer to another bus that would take him west across the Upper Peninsula and up into the Keweenaw toward Houghton. He said the bus would arrive in Houghton at 6:30 a.m., making his trip north more than 16 hours long.
While detailing his epic journey, he said, “It’s OK, it builds character.”
I said, “Yes, it does.”
He said, “Plus, I don’t have any money.”
I said, “Neither did I,” remembering the days I used to ride the bus.
Sitting there on that stiff and uncomfortable seat I recalled those many trips. Coming back from college and going back again. Taking the Megabus when I had no money in my 20s. They always advertised it as having fares as low as $1. For some reason, I never found those tickets.
I thought of riding the bus to Granada in Spain with my wife. We brought egg salad sandwiches wrapped in tin foil. I remembered taking an overnight bus from Eilat to Haifa in Israel. It was so long, but it was so cheap, and I was too.
Our bus finally pulled into the Walmart parking lot — the makeshift bus stop in our little town — at 8:41 p.m. Tuesday night. My wife and kids were there waiting for me in our gray Honda. The kids were wearing their pajamas and all ready for bed. The failure of the rental car companies to do their job was annoying. The bus ride wasn’t terribly comfortable. The final leg of my trip home took longer than I had anticipated. But I didn’t really care once I stepped off the bus and into the Walmart parking lot.
I made it home, and it’s a funny little story (maybe “Seinfeld” had the right idea), and what’s life without those?