#RolandMartinUnfiltered - Trump’s Project 2025: Up Close and Personal. Chapter Two-IVF.

Episode Date: October 18, 2024

Chapter Two of Trump’s Project 2025: Up Close and Personal depicts the personal story of Eve, a nurse struggling with infertility, whose treatment is threatened by the new president's executive order banning certain fertility treatments. The episode explores how the president's policies would impact everyday Americans, particularly women and families, by interfering with reproductive freedom and the right to self-determination. The author of the serialized novel “2025,” upon which this podcast series is based, David Pepper, highlights how the fictional story is directly based on the policies outlined in the Trump’s Project 2025 and the president's own words, underscoring the very real and devastating consequences a second Trump term and the implementation of Project 2025 could have. You can read Chapter Two of David Pepper’s “2025: A Novel” at davidpepper.substack.com/p/2025-a-novel-chapter-2 Trump’s Project 2025: Up Close and Personal is available on all the podcast apps and at 2025 pod.com. We'd also like to thank all the artists who volunteered their time to make this episode. J. Smith Cameron read the chapter and audio finishing by Marilys Ernst. This series is produced by David Pepper, Melissa, Jo Peltier and Jay Feldman. Trump’s Project 2025: Up Close and Personal is a production of Ovington Avenue Productions and the Bill Press Pod.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an iHeart Podcast. Never lick your thumb to clean their face. And you'd never let them leave the house looking like less than their best. You say you'd never put a pacifier in your mouth to clean it. Never let them stay up too late. And never let them run wild through the grocery store. So when have one aisle six. And aisle three. So when you say you'd never let them get into a car without you there, no, it can happen. One in four hot car

deaths happen when a kid gets into an unlocked car and can't get out. Never happens. Before you leave the car, always stop. Look. Lock. Brought to you by NHTSA and the Ad Council. I know a lot of cops, and they get asked all the time, have you everought to you by NHTSA and the Ad Council. I know a lot of cops. They get asked all the time,

have you ever had to shoot your gun? Sometimes the answer is yes. But there's a company dedicated to a future where the answer will always be no. This is Absolute Season 1. Taser Incorporated. I get right back there and it's bad. Listen to Absolute Season 1. Taser Incorporated on the iHeartRadio app, I get right back there and it's bad. I'm Clayton English.

I'm Greg Glott. And this is season two of the War on Drugs podcast. Last year, a lot of the problems of the drug war. This year, a lot of the biggest names in music and sports. This kind of starts that a little bit, man. We met them at their homes. We met them at their recording studios. Stories matter, and it brings a face to them.

It makes it real. It really does. It makes it real. Listen to new episodes of the War on Drugs podcast season two on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hello, I'm Bill Press and happy to welcome you to Chapter 2 of Trump's Project 2025, Up Close and Personal. This special podcast anticipates what would happen to everyday Americans were Trump to return to power. Now, while the people and the stories in this series are fictional, the policies that upend each of their lives and the country are all too real and drawn directly from the pages of

Project 2025 and Trump's own words and promises. It's an adaptation of the serialized novel 2025 by former Democratic Ohio State Chair and a very smart and effective pro-democracy advocate, David Pepper. Now, if you're as terrified of Project 2025 and a second Trump term as we are, please subscribe, share, and review this special podcast. Chapter 2, February, Capital Monthly, Eve Waltz by Rose Cunningham. Pittsburgh. To people outside of the nursing profession, working three days a week, sometimes four, sounded cushy. But that's because those who assume that never had to work in the seven-to-seven shift in their emergency room. The always understaffed emergency room in the always understaffed hospital.

By 4 or 5 in the morning, the stress, uncertainty, and unforgiving workload overwhelmed Eve Wallace's entire body. Starting with a throbbing head, onto aching legs and arms, then pinching the nerves of her lower spine by six. And that was on the quiet nights. But because her hospital was a level one trauma center in central Pittsburgh, a quiet night was not the norm. The typical night involved multiple gunshot victims in various stages of bleeding out as they arrived, or patients as high as a human being could get, lashing out physically at anyone who tried to handle them, hospital or city cops swooping in to restrain them.

Too often, those two situations, the gunshot victims and the thrashing addicts, presented themselves in the same patient. Simply dealing with one of those incidents could sap the energy of an entire 12 hours. But since these usually took place between midnight and three, once resolved, Eve's shift still had hours to go. This morning's shift had been one of the worst of the new year. Two teenagers had died in front of her, each with gunshots to the torso. A drunken fight between two large groups of kids, out way too late at night.

Senseless. Where in the hell were the parents? An older homeless man came to out of an overdose in a wildly hostile state, scratching Eve's arm before punching the other nurse who had revived him. Livid that they'd interrupted whatever he was feeling inside, the man didn't appreciate that they had resuscitated him only moments from death. OD patients rarely did. Of course, there were positive moments as well. They too took hard work and energy, but little miracles did occur along the way.

Tonight's came at her shift's end. Two city firefighters rushed in with a young woman who'd gone into labor early. She delivered 20 minutes later, from her gurney, in a hallway. Eve was the first to hold the tiny, 33-week infant after delivery. She cut the umbilical cord, clipped it close, then washed and dried the infant as she scanned for any obvious trouble signs. Seeing none, she took the infant's vitals. While tiny, just under three pounds, and bawling, the pale little guy appeared to be perfectly

healthy. She swaddled him tight, then handed him to another nurse who rushed him into the NICU. Eve watched the tiny head with its shock of black hair until he was out of sight. Where's my baby? The mom yelled out from behind her. Is he okay? Eve let out a long breath, preparing to exude needed calm. She stepped to the front of the gurney and grinned. He's perfect. You are so strong. And he takes after you. Looks healthy as he can be. Where is he? The woman yelled. I need to see him! We have to take the little guys right to the NICU.

For their safety. You'll be able to see him soon. She wiped the woman's forehead with a clean towel, trying to soothe her. The new mom closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Now at peace, she appeared so young. Eighteen or nineteen.

Twenty at the oldest. There was no father in sight, and because the young woman didn't ask about him or anyone else, Eve didn't inquire about family. She'd let the social service worker dive into those questions, then access resources that could help. Fifteen minutes later, hands washed in winter parka covering her Steelers sweatshirt, Eve walked out a rear door and stepped into the frigid morning air, along with six other

nurses who appeared as worn out as she felt. She boarded the shuttle bus to the staff parking lot. Unlike her and her 34 years of age, the other passengers looked like kids. For the past 20 minutes, she'd held strong. Knowing full well it was boiling up. It didn't actually hit her until she sat down and the shuttle door swung shut. Emotion welled up from deep in her gut. Nervousness and darkness and stress exploding all at once. Sudden quick breaths, shivering even in the warmth of the shuttle. Her vision blurred as wetness accumulated in her eyes. sudden, quick breaths, shivering even in the warmth of the shuttle.

Her vision blurred as wetness accumulated in her eyes. She squinted her eyelids, hoping to fend off full tears. To be safe, she ducked her head down. With that, and the darkness, maybe no one would notice. The bus squeaked to a stop as a metal gate opened in front of them, then pulled forward. Seconds later, it stopped again in the middle of the lot. Watch your step, the driver said as they stood up to leave.

It's slippery out there. A breeze chilled her as she stepped carefully toward her gray Chevy Malibu, parked in the same corner as always. With the sun still rising, it was hard to see where the dark asphalt was just wet or frozen solid. And the last thing she could afford was a fall. it was hard to see where the dark asphalt was just wet or frozen solid, and the last thing she could afford was a fall. As she joked with her husband, she felt like Humpty Dumpty. Her precious eggshell just happened to be on the inside.

Her car beeped and taillights blinked as she pressed the button on her key, walking faster as she got close. She sat down and shut the door behind her, but didn't start the car. She glanced around to make sure nobody was nearby. Then the tears she'd held back the entire bus ride burst out as her head and upper body collapsed against the steering wheel. She bawled loudly. Let it all come out, she learned.

The pain, the frustration, the loss. The love blazing deep inside her, anxiously awaiting its recipient. The craving for motherhood, burning for so long. Fierce but exhausted. Over the next five minutes, she gathered herself, taking long, deep breaths she had perfected over the years. She grabbed tissues from the center console, wiped away the tears,

then cleaned up the mascara that had streaked down her cheeks. This wasn't quite a weekly routine, but it was close. Always triggered by the same thing. The happiest moment of her shift. A delivery. The crowning act of motherhood she'd dreamt of for almost a decade. A goal she'd worked harder to achieve than anything in her whole life. Something she'd sacrificed so much for. Everything. She could assist others in

making it happen, yet it was something she seemed destined never to achieve. Seeing that sweet boy 30 minutes ago, helping bring him into the world, holding him in her hands, caring for him, swaddling him, unleashed all that pent-up emotion and sense of loss, as newborn deliveries always did. She knew the drill now. Get it all out. Hold nothing back. Then come back down and move forward. And today, at least, maintain hope that the appointment later this morning would bring the news she'd been waiting a third of her life to hear. Once home, Eve showered, dressed in the white blouse and tan slacks she liked to wear to appointments, and applied enough makeup to hide how exhausted she was. She'd usually be headed to bed right about now, but her appointment would push that back by a few hours.

Still, getting ready calmed her spirits. Transition from the trauma of the delivery. She sat down at the island in the kitchen and picked through a bowl of organic gluten-free raisin bran. Even tired, no coffee, ever. Too risky. Just a small part of her very complicated diet. As the book on her nightstand declared, it starts with the egg, the credo that had dominated her life for a decade. Earl was already gone, off to a work site where he'd been all day. But as usual, he'd left his dish and coffee cup

unrinsed in the sink and the television blaring. To his credit, he'd put his Cheerios box back in the cupboard, although Eve doubted he'd closed it Cheerios box back in the cupboard. Although Eve doubted he'd closed it the right way, he never did. Nervous about the appointment to come, she let the morning news distract her. It was consumed with Washington as it had been every day since the election. The new president did this, then that. Then everyone reacted with this and that. And this and that often boiled over into protests and outrage. The cycle just kept repeating itself.

So much time and energy wasted. While she wasn't political, Eve couldn't remember the entire nation so obsessed with the every word and action of a single person. It exhausted her. When would they all get a break? Just be able to live their lives without each day in America being about politics. Angry, angry politics. And why did people let one ridiculous man dominate their lives? She usually turned off the TV as soon as she walked in.

She faced much bigger challenges in life than the hot air of politics. But the TV stayed on this morning. Beyond the needed distraction, this morning's news caught our attention. Last night, as expected, the new president gave a speech doubling down on his inauguration promise to ban abortion pills nationwide.

He planned to sign the executive order at 9 a.m. Now the new attorney general was explaining why that order was legal, why the Supreme Court would allow the ban to stay in place. Then the attorney general got political. This was clearly part of what the people voted for last November, so nobody should be surprised by this. Eve shook her head. She was surprised. And her guess was that most Americans were too. The new president had been over the top for years, a big talker and a bullshit artist. But he'd been in office before, and none of these things ever happened. Why, she thought in the

final days of the election that had exhausted all of America, would this time around be any different? But now it was. Fast. The TV coverage shifted, capturing women raising hell all over the country, including a fast-growing protest at the gates of the front of the White House. A reporter updated The Nation live from the scene, speculating that this might be yet another day of riots and arrests, just like Inauguration Day. Just like the protest of deportations in the days that followed the news that thousands of dreamers had been secretly shepherded out of the country for national security reasons,

just like the broader Muslim ban and mass deportation protests that had ended in tear gas, stampedes, and fatalities. She couldn't remember so much tumult in the country. Still, Eve's own personal struggle and suffocating work schedule kept her so exhausted, she didn't have the time or energy to keep up with all the outrage. The abortion pill ban cut through the usual clutter. The issue tore at her, seeing what she saw in the ER every day.

Like this morning, too many teen moms were delivering kids they were wholly unprepared to raise. Nurses like her tried to put a rosy face on these deliveries, but they knew kids delivering kids kick-started a long, dark path of obstacles and pitfalls and problems, paths that armies of social service workers would struggle and usually fail to make less treacherous. The president's announcement would only make that all worse. Former colleagues in southern states where abortion was already banned had shared horror stories about the spike in deliveries by young women, girls, many alone, some clearly victims of rape. And even when they had families to support them,

women of all ages were showing up in hospitals in grave physical danger. Eve also knew from her own journey that, depending on how it was defined, there was hardly a difference between what happens amid an unsuccessful pregnancy and what politicians would ban as an abortion. She nibbled on the last raisin just as police in riot gear pounced on the crowd outside the White House, mainly women her age and younger. Eve winced. There'd already been too much violence.

She didn't need to see anymore. She turned off the TV. Eve's heart fluttered as soon as she pulled out of the driveway, slick from a thin layer of snow. She'd made this drive so many times, playing loud music to contain her anticipation on the way there, then usually shedding tears and anticipation on the way there, then usually shedding tears and silence on the way home. The emotional roller coaster used to play out for far

longer when she'd head there from outside Altoona, two hours each way for appointments that usually lasted 15 or 30 minutes. She and Earl had loved small-town life and missed Altoona, but the long, frequent drives and the need for better insurance had prompted their move back to Pittsburgh four years ago. As much as she'd grown accustomed to the cycle over the years, the tough appointments still devastated her each time. Actually, they hit harder over time. Not immediately, because her expectations for each appointment had diminished. But in the hours or days that followed, as the reality set in, so too did despair. The clock was ticking.

The odds were declining. Whatever wasn't working really wasn't working. Was it even worth it to keep trying? Was she nuts for still trying? For clinging to her dream? Yes, there had been hopeful appointments over the years. A warm Dr. Barresi and more recently Dr. Johnson at various moments reporting that the fertilized eggs looked good

or that the embryo transfer went well or that readings confirmed a chemical pregnancy. And twice, for two incredible moments amid ten years of striving, that ultrasounds confirmed actual clinical pregnancies. But inevitably, a later call or appointment had always intervened, extinguishing that faint glimmer of hope. The fertilized embryos became non-viable. Not enough HCG meant that the chemical pregnancy had ended.

And after those two clinical pregnancies, later ultrasounds delivered the toughest news of all. On the first, only an empty gestational sac remained. It was over. On the second, the ultrasound detected an ectopic pregnancy, requiring a medical abortion to protect Eve's life. After each of those meetings, after the tearful, silent, and slow ride home, she and Earl would commit to start over. Even if expensive and painful and exhausting, starting over was their only hope. So after halting the

meds and during grueling days or weeks as the tissue and clots from the failed pregnancy passed out of her, and finally getting another green light from the doctors, she and Earl always started over. Sometimes starting over meant using one of the frozen embryos that remained. Other times they had to go back to square one, stimulate another round of eggs to be retrieved, as the doctors called it, then fertilized, which meant 14 days of daily shots of burning and bruising to her belly and hip, then back to the stirrups for another retrieval of another round of eggs, then fertilization, new embryos, yet another transfer,

that all the meds needed to maximize success. On and on and on, every several months, for 10 years, occasionally taking a longer break to regain their strength and resolve and to scratch together the funds needed to pay for it all or to change jobs outright for new insurance. Like any nurse, like Eve herself, the nurse who scheduled appointments tried to maintain an even tone on those calls. But years ago, Eve had learned to detect the tiniest hints at what was to come. When they'd hung up last week, the slight lilt in the nurse's voice contrasted with the usual monotone endings of these scheduled calls.

It left Eve with hope that this time, for the first time in a year, they were off to a good start. While she hummed to her most uplifting country songs to calm herself, her heart pounded the entire 15 minutes to the office. Earl's presence always made these appointments better. Physically, he knew just how to hold her hand. Emotionally, he knew just what to say at just the right moments. And he sensed when she needed silence to think and recover. He was truly a gentle giant.

But they needed extra money to pay for continued treatment. Plus, much of his work was back towards Altoona, so lately his longer hours, with some overnight stays built in, meant she had to go to these alone. Eve had long ago decided the clinic was staffed by angels. Every visit, familiar smiles greeted her all the way in from the building's front door. This morning, the receptionist at check-in asked about Earl as she always did. Has he recovered from the Steelers' playoff loss? she asked. Neither of us has. Eve laughed. Minutes later, the young aide who walked her back to the examination room could not have been sweeter.

On the way, Eve and two patients greeted one another as they passed by. She recognized both from the peer support group sessions where they all shared their journeys. The emotional ups and downs the outside world would never understand. Back in the exam room, she sat for longer than usual, hearing her own heartbeat pound away. That scheduler's voice, the slight hint of good news, echoed in her mind. Had she read it right? When the door opened, she expected one more smile. Because that was always the greeting of Joy Walters, the diminutive gray-haired nurse practitioner who'd guided her through so much of this difficult journey.

The one who'd been there from the first appointment on. Instead, the look on Joy's face was one she'd never seen before. Just somber. She'd encountered that side of Joy many times after opening pleasantries. This was worse. A tight-jawed grimace of worry. Maybe even fear. Her lips looked to be trembling.

Something she'd never witnessed from someone as cool and confident as Joy Walters. She stood to greet her, but Joy gestured to stay seated. As she did, her hand shook. Even her peer group sisters thought of Joy as the team captain of the entire clinic staff, the glue. A woman who'd brought her back from the anguish countless times. A woman who always had a plan B and C and D. Joy, queen of the what-the-fuck meetings. They used the term for the appointments where Joy reviewed what the fuck went wrong this time, in the last cycle, and how to fix it. That's when new terms and abbreviations popped up for different procedures.

Or Joy adjusted the med dosages. Or she ordered a biopsy of the uterine wall to gauge its receptivity. Thanks to Joy, what-the-fuck meetings always ended with a new path, a hint of hope, enough to keep going. But now Joy stood erect, shoulders and neck stiff, saying nothing. Joy, what's wrong? Joy sat down in the chair facing Eve, lips now pursed, eyes red, blinking. Eve's own nursing instinct kicked in.

Something was wrong. For her, yes. But this was bigger. Something was wrong for Joy. We've had some developments. Her voice cracked as she spoke. We'll wait for Dr. Johnson to fill you in. They sat in silence for 10 more minutes.

She had never sat in silence with joy before. We'll be back with the rest of Eve's story after a short break. I want to remind you that any profits from the advertising in this series will be donated to the Democratic Legislative Campaign Committee, the official organization dedicated to electing Democratic state houses. Why? Because many of Project 2025's and Trump's policies are already being implemented in red states. I know a lot of cops and they get asked all the time, have you ever had to shoot your gun? Sometimes the answer is yes. But there's a company dedicated to a future where the answer will always be no. Across the country, cops called this taser the revolution. But not everyone was convinced it was that simple. Cops believed everything that taser told them. From Lava for Good and the team that brought you Bone Valley comes a story about what happened when a multi-billion dollar company

dedicated itself to one visionary mission. This is Absolute Season One, Taser Incorporated. I get right back there and it's bad. It's really, really, really bad. Listen to new episodes of Absolute Season 1, Taser Incorporated, on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Binge episodes 1, 2, and 3 on May 21st and episodes 4, 5, and 6 on June 4th. Ad-free at Lava for Good Plus on Apple Podcasts.

I'm Clayton English. I'm Greg Lott. And this is Season 2 of the War on Drugs podcast. We are back. In a big way. In a very big way. Real people, real perspectives. This is kind of star-studded a little bit, man.

We got Ricky Williams, NFL player, Heisman Trophy winner. It's just a compassionate choice to allow players all reasonable means to care for themselves. Music stars Marcus King, John Osborne from Brothers Osborne. We have this misunderstanding of what this quote-unquote drug thing is.

Benny the Butcher. Brent Smith from Shinedown. We got B-Real from Cypress Hill. NHL enforcer Riley Cote. Marine Corvette. MMA fighter Liz Karamush. What we're doing now isn't working, and we need to change things. Stories matter, and it brings a face to them.

It makes it real. It really does. It makes it real. Listen to new episodes of the War on Drugs podcast season two on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. And to hear episodes one week early and ad-free with exclusive content, Season two on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcast. And to hear episodes one week early and ad free with exclusive content. Subscribe to Lava for Good Plus on Apple Podcasts.

You say you'd never give in to a meltdown. Never let kids toys take over the house. And never fill your feed with kid photos. You'd never plan your life around their schedule. Never lick your thumb to clean their face. And you'd never let them leave the house looking like less than their best. You'd say you'd never put a pacifier in your mouth to clean it. Never let them stay up too late.

And never let them run wild through the grocery store. So when you say you'd never let them get into a car without you there, know it can happen. One in four hot car deaths happen when a kid gets into an unlocked car and can't get out. Never happens. Before you leave the car, always stop, look, lock. Brought to you by NHTSA and the Ad Council.

Now, please stay tuned after the episode when the author David Pepper ties each of the story elements back to specific references in Project 2025 and Trump's own words. OK, now back to Eve's story. Two knocks shook the thin door before it whooshed open. Dr. Jane Johnson stepped through quickly. As with Joy, Eve had never seen her look like this. The doctor's usually tight bun was loose, strands of sandy blonde hair escaping in all directions. Her eyes were red, with a smudge below them indicating she'd been crying. She sat down next to Joy. Can we call Earl? Eve felt her stomach roll. They'd never asked to call Earl before, even on bad days.

He's on our work site all morning. I really can't reach him. She paused, trying to steel herself. I can handle it. We've been through this all before, haven't we? She took a long breath, then forced another smile. Shield up. Dr. Johnson didn't return one, swallowing hard instead. I'm afraid we have terrible news about your treatment. Terrible? Neither she nor Dr.

Bresi before her had ever used a word that dramatic before. That hopeless. Joy reached over and held Eve's hand. So it didn't work, Eve asked. Dr. Johnson shook her head. That's not clear yet. You remain chemically pregnant, although the levels aren't where we'd like them to be. The next few days will tell us the story. To a jaded Eve, this was nothing new. Both Dr. Johnson's look and words signaled another failure and the need for a new embryo soon.

But it was better than so many meetings at this stage where the HCG level had plummeted, indicating the pregnancy was definitely over. I'll live with that for now. So, what's so terrible? What's terrible, another visible swallow, is that this is our last shot and that we may even face jeopardy already. Jeopardy? Last shot? What in heavens are you talking about? Dr. Johnson's hands trembled as she reached for glasses in her front pocket. Yes, I'm afraid so. We can't do any more transfers. The sentence hit like a punch to the gut.

Embryo transfers were Eve's lifeline. Every one of Joy's backup plans, every new path coming out of those what-the-fuck meetings, involved another transfer. Plus, Eve's last round of stimulation had produced six embryos, now frozen, all available for transfer, which meant less overall pain and lower costs for some time, an open field of new tries. No more transfers essentially meant the end of her dream of motherhood. I... I don't understand. Dr. Johnson took out a piece of paper and mouthed words to herself. Whatever she was reading caused her to shake. Eve, it's all about politics that I too don't understand. I just got off a national conference call with specialists and lawyers from all over the country, and we have to stop our work. Today. Here and around the country. Stop.

Why? Eve asked, still confused. What's happening? Did you see those protests this morning? The president's announcement last night? I caught a glimpse of that getting ready. I can only watch so much of that stuff, but what does it have to do with me and what you do? Well, what we just learned is that the president's new order doesn't just prohibit abortion pills. It also bans fertility treatments that lead to what they call the death of embryos. And as you know from our years together, Eve closed her eyes as Joyce squeezed her hand tighter. She was trying hard, but it didn't bring the

comfort of Earl's. Eve so missed him right now. She suddenly felt lightheaded. Losing embryos is an inevitable part of our process. Under the new law, if we transfer an embryo to you and it doesn't survive, we are liable for manslaughter. If frozen embryos don't survive, same thing. Eyes still shut, a decade of sacrifice flashed by. Bad news after bad news, and always the hope that the next time would work. The next round was what kept them going. So they'd kept going even after her boss back in Altoona informed her that their insurance had declined paying for the next cycle. That's why they'd moved back to Pittsburgh, back to her old hospital, and to an insurer who would still give her family a chance. They'd kept going even after they'd hit their new insurance cap, triggering a spike in their

co-pays, which is why she'd requested to move to the stress and long hours of the ER. She needed the extra pay to make the co-payments. And it's why Earl kept signing up for more jobs with more hours. They had to work longer and harder than ever to keep these treatments going. And even with that hard work, in recent years, it's why they'd taken out a second mortgage and drained most of their 401k. Through all the sacrifice, there'd always been the prospect of another chance. No more. She reopened her eyes,

head spinning as questions flooded her head. She had long ago mastered the biology. She knew those answers and what she needed to do from shots to the belly to letting all the grief

explode out during meltdowns like this morning. Bouncing around her brain now were questions that had nothing to do with biology. They were about law, politics,

the topics she'd ignored as she fought to build her family. The questions she'd left to lawyers and TV commentators and politicians and protesters. But can't that be stopped? Wasn't this kind of thing stopped last year by the Supreme Court? She tried to recall the Attorney General's interview from an hour ago. She forgot the specifics. Dr. Johnson shook her head. That's what our call was about. We asked the same questions. The lawyers in D.C. are confident that the current Supreme Court will let this happen. They'll say the administration has the

right to do this. Probably not even a close case. Some justices even think the Constitution requires it. But can't you guys try to stop it? Your lawyers? This is life or death for so many of us. And our babies. I know, but all we can do is go to court. And we'll do that. But we're being told we'll lose. So many details of her sacrifice replayed in her mind, which began to twist her mood. Fine, so let's keep going until we know. Dr. Johnson looked at Joy, who'd worked with Eve far longer. Eve, we can hope, pray, and do all we can for the embryo in you now. If that fails, we can't do any more transfers. Again, Eve could read her tone, and she knew from past experience the embryo inside her wasn't going to make it.

More questions interrupted that thought. A crime? Eve asked, her pulse now quickening. Forgiving all I have to bring a baby into the world? It makes no sense, I know, Joy said. But that's the new law. Eve swatted her hand against her thigh. I don't give a shit. If I can carry a baby to term because of this treatment, I'll do it from a prison cell if I have to. Joy smiled, tears now filling her eyes.

We knew you'd say that. So will every patient we treat. But we can't take that risk here. For all the people who work here, for our families. We'd all be liable for crimes. Joy paused. My guess is half our staff would take the same chance you would. Some have already told us that.

But we can't let that happen. Silence filled the room for a few seconds. E, Dr. Johnson said gently. Yes, there's one more thing. She shook her head but sat up a little straighter, used her sleeve to wipe away her latest round of tears. There wasn't anything worse that could come. This is the worst what-the-fuck meeting ever.

Joy grinned, gently shaking her clasped hand. What is it? Eve asked. There is one more risk, but one we're willing to take. Hell yes, what is it? The current embryo. Since we transferred it before the law was signed, if it doesn't advance to a clinical pregnancy, the lawyers think we'll be okay under the law.

Well, of course, Eve shot back. But, Dr. Johnson continued, if it advances to a clinical pregnancy and you have another failed pregnancy, then what we need to do to keep you safe could be labeled an illegal abortion. Eve nodded, remembering her friend's horror stories from southern states. Already? Yes. We couldn't use any of the abortion medications they just banned. Any other options, Eve asked. How about just the usual procedure? Well, it's not illegal in Pennsylvania yet, but we're afraid a full national abortion ban is next. The lawyers certainly think so, and because that embryo is in you and not in our lab, you'd be liable as well as us. For manslaughter, Eve asked.

At least, Joy said grimly. Eve sat up even taller. Well, that's a chance I'm willing to take. We are too, Joy said. We are too. After long hugs and more tears with Joy, Dr. Johnson, and the other staff and nurses, Eve walked out of the clinic and back to her car. No meltdown this time. It had all come out. Plus sadness had morphed into resolve and burgeoning anger. She'd left sad back in the exam room. Eve now recalled the faces from this morning's news coverage.

The women in front of the White House, marching, protesting, strident signs high in the air, stern, determined looks on their faces. Her mood felt the way those women had looked, like warriors. For ten years, the obstacle she'd faced was a biological one, a small physical or chemical glitch within her own body that stood in the way of her dream. If that's what stopped her after doing everything in her power to overcome it, she was resigned to that. But this was different.

As of this morning, the federal government of the United States was directly interfering with the most personal of decisions. Her decisions. Interrupting her years of commitment and toil and sacrifice to grow her own family. And threatening those trying to help her as if they were common criminals when they had been the most empathetic supporters and caregivers she'd encountered in her life. Seething at that thought, gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white,

she reached the parking lot's exit, but she didn't turn left. While left was the way home, she dreaded the prospect of being home alone, confronting the end of her infertility road and the near certainty that the last opportunity now inside her was going to fail. Whether she stewed in the kitchen, the living room, in bed, it would be torture. So she turned right instead. Joy had mentioned that women were already gathering at the Allegheny Courthouse downtown.

Suddenly, that felt like the right destination. If those faces from TV resembled the faces she'd see in the courthouse, Eve would feel far more at home with those warriors given her rage inside. So that's the direction she chose. Minutes later, she parked four blocks from the courthouse. Groups of women streamed toward the old building from various directions, all but the most elderly walking at a brisk pace, on a mission. Eve caught up to the back of one group, which merged with more, which ultimately flowed into a crowd of at least 1,000 women spread across the sidewalks and streets surrounding the

stately gray edifice. Eve was underdressed for the cold and overdressed for a protest, but she said to herself, practically yelling, what the fuck? An older woman next to her cast an odd stare her way, then laughed out loud. At one corner of the courthouse, volunteers were handing out signs declaring, Bans off our bodies and My Body, My Choice, My Freedom. Eve grabbed a large Bans sign, then entered the throng. Women packed tight, facing the courthouse entrance. She raised the sign high over her head, shaking it up and down. There

was no order to the protests, no agenda agenda or speakers no microphones or sound system just a loud buzz of conversation shouts interrupted by a spontaneous series of chants initiated by those with the loudest voices and the signs multiply all sizes and messages many homemade the chaos summed up how she felt. Anger and frustration and confusion all at once. What was happening to the country she lived in when the national government could reach all the way down to her Pittsburgh fertility clinic, then into her own body and end her quest for motherhood? A bunch of older men making decisions about what was best for her health and her family.

As she paced around with her sign overhead, Eve ran into several of her infertility peer group sisters, the ones who shared the most intimate struggles and pains. Then they ran into some of the clinic staff who'd worked so hard to guide them through those struggles. Joy had let them leave early, they explained. They marched together, growing in size, beckoning over to others whom they recognized. And amid tears and hugs, her group grew bolder, louder. The steely

eyes and clenched jaws now resembled the warriors from the morning's White House protest. She didn't know who started it, but one of her peer group members, one who'd been getting treatment almost as long as she had, started a new chant. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck is right? thought the perfect question. She immediately started shouting the same words. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? Other peers and staff joined her immediately. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? Other peers and staff joined her immediately. What the fuck?

Nearby protesters looked over, confused at first. Eve didn't care. She yelled even louder. Those not navigating infertility wouldn't understand. But soon enough, confused looks faded, and the onlookers joined in too. What the fuck? For Eve, and clearly all those around her, the three words captured what they felt more than any chant they'd heard. For two more hours, until courthouse deputies broke the crowd up,

that short chant was all they yelled. Thousands of women. Same three words. Top of their lungs. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? The next episode of Trump's Project 2025, Up Close and Personal, predicts the disaster facing America and the world when Project 2025 staffs the federal government the way they want to do it.

In the next episode of Trump's Project 2025 Up Close and Personal, we are a fly on the wall at a pandemic preparation meeting to confront the potential spread of bird flu. The inexperienced and politicized staff recruited by Project 2025 are confronting Dr. Yvette Hardman, a longtime civil servant and public health scientist at the CDC. Okay, Dr. Hardman, that takes care of your first recommendation. Do you have any others? For her third recommendation, she praised the president's 2020 surge of the COVID-19 vaccine. Chip smirked and waved his hand. Vaccines! Oh, he won't be doing that again this time. All but two around the table laughed out loud.

I will not give one penny to any school that has a vaccine mandate or a mask mandate. In just four years, the same president had entirely reversed his stance on vaccines, and his new crew reflected that. The next two steps were rejected just as quickly. As with the vaccine surge, all were rejected for hollow political considerations. No health, no science, no thought of any consequences beyond the next week's news cycle. If the nation were watching this meeting, they'd be horrified. Trump's mishandling of the COVID-19 pandemic killed hundreds of thousands of Americans.

It will only be worse in a second Trump administration, an administration staffed with unqualified political hacks by Project 2025. That story, in a profile of a Project 2025 recruit leading a key department of the CDC in the next episode of Trump's Project 2025 Up Close and Personal. Trump's Project 2025 Up Close and Personal is available on all the podcast apps and at 2025pod.com. I ask you again to please subscribe, review, and most crucially, share the podcast with your friends and relatives who need to know just how dangerous a second Trump term and Project 2025 would be. When we come back, the author David Pepper will tie the horrors of Eve's story to the specific policies outlined in Project 2025 and in Trump's own words. I know a lot of cops and they get asked all the time,

have you ever had to shoot your gun? Sometimes the answer is yes. But there's a company dedicated to a future where the answer will always be no. Across the country, cops called this taser the revolution. But not everyone was convinced it was that simple. Cops believed everything that Taser told them. From Lava for Good and the team that brought you Bone Valley comes a story about what happened when a multi-billion dollar company dedicated itself to one visionary mission.

This is Absolute Season One, Taser Incorporated. I get right back there and it's bad. It's really, really, really bad. Listen to new episodes of Absolute Season 1, Taser Incorporated, on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Binge episodes 1, 2, and 3 on May 21st, and episodes 4, 5, and 6 on June 4th. Ad-free at Lava for Good Plus on Apple Podcasts.

I'm Clayton English. I'm Greg Glod. And this is Season 2 of the War on Drugs podcast. Yes, sir. We are back. In a big way. In a very big way. Real people, real perspectives. This is kind of star-studded a little bit, man. We got Ricky Williams, NFL player, Heisman Trophy winner.

It's just a compassionate choice to allow players all reasonable means to care for themselves. Music stars Marcus King, John Osborne from Brothers Osborne. We have this misunderstanding of what this quote-unquote drug thing is. Benny the Butcher. Brent Smith from Shinedown. We got B-Real from Cypress Hill. NHL enforcer Riley Cote. Marine Corvette.

MMA fighter Liz Caramouch. What we're doing now isn't working, and we need to change things. Stories matter, and it brings a face to them. It makes it real. It really does. It makes it real. Listen to new episodes of the War on Drugs podcast season two on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

And to hear episodes one week early and ad free with exclusive content, subscribe to Lava for Good Plus on Apple Podcasts. You say you'd never give in to a meltdown. Never let kids toys take over the house. And never fill your feed with kid photos. You'd never plan your life around their schedule. Never lick your thumb to clean their face. And you'd never let them leave the house looking like less than their best. You say you'd never put a pacifier in your mouth to clean it. Never let them stay up too late.

And never let them run wild through the grocery store. So when you say you'd never let them get into a car without you there, no, it can happen. One in four hot car deaths happen when a kid gets into an unlocked car and can't get out. Never happens. Before you leave the car, always stop, look, lock. Brought to you by NHTSA and the Ad Council.

Now, we want to remind you once again that while Eve's story is fictional, it is based on actual policies in Project 2025 and on Trump's own words. Here's the author, David Pepper, with the specific references. Author's note, David Pepper. Project 2025 directly risks the reproductive freedom of American women and the self-determination of families. Project 2025 would politicize the Department of Health and Human Services, HHS, as well as the Food and Drug Administration, the FDA.

And the plan spells out that the clear purpose is to, quote, maintain a biblically-based, social science-reinforced definition of marriage and family, end quote. Project 2025's chapter, dedicated to HHS, isn't subtle about its goal. On page 450, Project 2025 enunciates the top priority of the Department of Health and Human Services. The Secretary should pursue a robust agenda, quote, to protect the fundamental right to life, protect conscience rights, and uphold bodily integrity rooted in biological realities, not ideology. Quote, from the moment of conception, every human being possesses inherent dignity and worth, and our humanity does not depend on our age, stage of development, race, or abilities.

The Secretary must ensure that all HHS programs and activities are rooted in a deep respect for innocent human life from day one until natural death. Abortion and euthanasia are not health care. Along those lines, on page 458, the plan calls for the FDA to ban abortion medications, including mifepristone, because the drug, it says, has, quote, proven to be dangerous to women and, by definition, fatally unsafe for unborn children, end quote. This is just one of numerous anti-abortion provisions throughout the HHS section. This includes eliminating federal funding to Planned Parenthood, no longer shielding health records related to abortion from criminal investigations if a patient crosses state

lines, and bans mailing abortion pills to patients. All right there in the plan. But there's no reason to think that once the FDA starts banning abortion medications along the lines that they are, quote, fatally unsafe to unborn children, that they would stop there when their goal is to protect what they call life after conception. In fact, a close look at the positions on the far Christian right, which animates Project 2025, makes clear that birth control and IVF treatments are also in the crosshairs. But would they really go as far as IVF treatment itself? You be the judge. First, the clear and consistent definition of conception, which Project 2025 explicitly sets as the starting point of life on page 450,

is the moment an egg is fertilized to become an embryo. Medical News Today writes this, quote, people usually define conception as the moment when a sperm fertilizes an egg. This can happen inside the body or outside of the body when people are using IVF, end quote. So Project 2025 declares right up front that it believes that from, quote, day one, embryos comprise, quote, innocent human life life and HHS's top priority under project 2025 is to protect them once conception becomes that starting point the threat to IVF is clear for example you get a ruling such as the recent one from the Alabama Supreme Court which found that frozen embryos created during the IVF process should have full personhood rights, to quote Politico.

But to see how serious they are, let's dig even deeper. What animates this deeper opposition to IVF? The Heritage Foundation, the very institution quarterbacking Project 2025, could not be more clear about its views on IVF. On one article on its website, quote, It is past time for Protestant denominations to carefully examine the use of assisted reproductive technologies, namely IVF and surrogate motherhood, end quote. The article then quotes the Bible as its guide through this examination, concluding, quote, Any procedure or treatment that destroys or violates the dignity and life of an embryo is morally and theologically abhorrent, end quote. The article also explores the cause of infertility, saying, quote, In another article, Heritage goes further, quote, Another quote, When people try to produce children in their own power and control, scripture calls such work vain, end quote. Again, this is all from the Heritage Foundation.

It's on their website, just a few clicks away from Project 2025. In case their point is missed, the same Heritage scholar who wrote the words above said that the Alabama court decision banning IVF was, quote, on the right track, end quote. Finally, Heritage declares, it is time for Protestant denominations to pay serious attention to reproductive technology and invest in the hard work of subduing and taking dominion over it. Subduing and taking dominion over it. Got it. They get points for clarity. Along the same lines, the part of Project 2025's HHS section that covers the National Institutes of Health on page 461 spells out one such pathway to subdue technology.

Quote, the administration should reconvene a new National Council on Bioethics to discuss new and emerging areas of ethical concern to assess whether the ends justify the means when it comes to the promise of therapies and cures. End quote. Therapies and cures. More points for clarity. So the words of Project 2025 are clear. The organization leading the charge on Project 2025 is crystal clear about IVF. But there's one

more piece of evidence. At the Republican National Convention, the party adopted as part of their platform the radical interpretation that the 14th Amendment protects, quote, fetal personhood. And as far-right voices are excited to point out to each other, fetal personhood to them means that what they call life, quote, from the earliest embryonic stage, end quote, are, quote, persons that are protected on the 14th Amendment, which means, again, embryos, in their view, are protected, and IVF would be illegal under the Constitution of the United States.

This rests at the heart of conservative legal theory today. And the fact that it made it into the RNC platform was a major win for the anti-abortion extreme, including those who want to ban IVF. Folks, they're not hiding any of this online, on TV, in Project 2025 itself. It's very clear just how much IVF is in the crosshairs if Donald Trump wins the presidency. Once again, Trump's Project 2025 Up Close and Personal is available on all the podcast apps and at 2025pod.com. We'd like to thank all the artists who volunteered their time to make this episode. Jay Smith Cameron read the chapter and Marilis Ernst did the audio finishing. This series is produced by David Pepper, Melissa Jo Peltier, and Jay Feldman. Trump's Project 2025 Up Close and Personal is a production of Ovington Avenue Productions and the Bill Press Pot.

You say you'd never give in to a meltdown. Never let kids' toys take over the house. And never fill your feed with kid photos. You'd never plan your life around their schedule. Never lick your thumb to clean their face. And you'd never let them leave the house looking like less than their best. You say you'd never put a pacifier in your mouth to clean it. Never let them stay up too late.

And never let them run wild through the grocery store. So when you say you'd never let them get into a car without you there, no, it can happen. One in four hot car deaths happen when a kid gets into an unlocked car and can't get out. Never happens. Before you leave the car, always stop, look, lock.

Brought to you by NHTSA and the Ad Council. I know a lot of cops. They get asked all the time, have you ever had to shoot your gun? Sometimes the answer is yes. But there's a company dedicated to a future where the answer will always be no. This is Absolute Season 1, Taser Incorporated. I get right back there and it's bad. Listen to Absolute Season 1, Taser Incorporated on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

I'm Clayton English. I'm Greg Lott. And this is Season 2 of the War on Drugs podcast. Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. homes. We met them at the recording studios. Stories matter and it brings a face to them. It makes it real. It really does. It makes it real. Listen to new episodes of the War on Drugs podcast season 2 on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This is an iHeart Podcast.