The Nuclear Option, The Nuclear Codes: Does Trump Know the Difference? Do You?

Why we’re all pretending not to see Trump’s decline — and what a real Congress would do, should do about it.

In 2008, I got radon poisoning from a building. It didn’t start with a dramatic collapse. It began with a cough. Just a hacking, annoying cough. Then feeling a little worse. Then, a few days passed where I was “off” — my head wasn’t in my work, and I kept postponing things. I was sleeping more. I was snappy. I was a bitch because I didn’t feel well, and I was trying to push through it. Then I couldn’t breathe.

When you’re sick, you’re not yourself. And you can’t “mind-over-matter” your way out of it.

Finally, I checked myself into the hospital. That’s when I heard the words: “You have three nodes on your lungs.” What’s that?” “That’s lung cancer.”

When a doctor says “cancer,” your world tilts, your priorities change in a second. You’re not thinking about quarterly goals or email queues. You’re thinking, ‘How long have I been sick?’ How long do I have? How many people saw it and said nothing?

Radon is the #1 cause of lung cancer among non-smokers and the second leading cause overall. It kills around 21,000 people a year in the U.S., including thousands who never smoked, like me.

Looking back, it’s obvious: people around me knew Something was wrong. I wasn’t myself. I was tired, cloudy, short-tempered, not on my game.

When you live with someone, work with someone, watch someone every day, you see it. You feel it in your gut: they’re not okay.

Which brings me to Donald Trump.

We all see it. We’re just pretending not to.

Everyone in Trump’s orbit knows Something is off.  Republicans know. Democrats know. The press knows. Foreign governments definitely know.

We’re watching a 79-year-old man — the oldest president we have ever had — shuffle through public events with visible health issues and mounting questions about his stamina and cognition.

We’ve watched:

• • Swollen ankles and lower legs, explained away as “chronic venous insufficiency” — a vein disease common in older adults, where blood pools because the valves in your veins don’t work as well.

• • Repeated bruises on his hands, sometimes covered (poorly) with makeup, sparking questions from doctors about underlying vascular or nerve issues.

• • A week-long public disappearance that fueled “Is he okay?” rumors, followed by a defensive, joking reappearance instead of straightforward transparency.

• • And I can’t help but notice the comments on social media — people calling him “the most anticipated obituary in the world.”

That’s where we are now — a country half-joking, half-waiting for biology to do what Congress is too cowardly to confront. Add to that the increasingly garbled speeches, the strange asides, the confusion of names and events — and you don’t have to be a neurologist to say, Something isn’t right here.

And I’m not letting Democrats off the hook.

We saw it with Biden, too.

That debate. You know the one. The moment when half the country collectively winced and thought, ‘Biden’s not up for this anymore.’ Biden eventually stepped aside and didn’t run again — but it was late, and it only happened after public pressure made it politically impossible to pretend anymore.

So the question isn’t:

• • “Is Trump old?”

• • “Was Biden old?”

We already know the answer.

The real question is:

Why do the people who swear an oath to the Constitution keep looking the other way when it’s obvious a president is in decline?

Why Trump’s health is a national security problem?

When I think about Trump and the nuclear codes, I don’t just think about age or stamina — I think about vindictiveness.

When I was diagnosed with lung cancer, I went through the five stages of dying. Your brain goes to dark places. You bargain, you rage, you want someone or Something to blame.

Now picture a man like Trump, who is already vengeful on his best day — facing decline, humiliation, and loss of power while holding the nuclear codes. That’s not politics. That’s a global risk. Trump has the power to end millions of lives while facing his own physical decline, legal walls closing in, and the terror of losing his mind. That’s not just “concerning.” That is a walking national security emergency.

We are not talking about a calm elder statesman facing mortality; we are talking about a man whose instinct is to use scorched earth tactics — and we’ve handed him the launch codes.

What happened to the pledge to the American people?

We make kids say the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag and to the Republic — not to a man, not to a party, not to a cult.

Members of Congress swear an oath to the Constitution of the United States, not to any one president.

So let’s ask it plainly:

• • What about the pledge to the American people?

• • What about the pledge to the United States of America — not to Donald Trump, not to Joe Biden, not to any one person?

Currently, it appears that loyalty is upward, not outward.

Is Trump’s inner circle clinging to him because of his “iron fist” loyalty test?

Are they terrified of his base?

Is it personal ambition? Future jobs? Donor money? Media contracts?

Probably all of the above.

But here’s the hard truth: If your loyalty to a leader is stronger than your loyalty to the country, you don’t belong in leadership.

Congress is sick too — and there’s no natural attrition

Let’s be blunt: we have an old, captured Congress.

If we had a healthy, self-respecting, modern Congress — not a retirement home with committee assignments — Biden would have been pushed aside earlier, and there would be serious, public talk right now about Trump’s fitness for office.

Instead, Congress behaves like a career ladder:

• • Get in.

• • Stay forever.

• • Get your benefits.

• • Cash out as a lobbyist.

There’s natural attrition in nature: seasons change, forests regrow, and ecosystems renew themselves. There is no natural attrition in Congress — just incumbency, gerrymandering, and a river of donor money to keep the same people in the same seats for decades.

And when lawmakers are planning a 30–40-year career in office, what do they care more about?

• • Doing the hard, risky, necessary thing for the country?

• • Or not upsetting the leader whose endorsement, donor list, and base they need to survive the next primary?

You know the answer.

Term limits: not a magic wand, but a necessary reset

We absolutely need term limits for Congress — and, yes, for the Supreme Court too. But I talked about that yesterday.

Public opinion is already there: polls routinely show strong support for congressional term limits across party lines.

Are term limits perfect? No.
Do they fix everything? No.

But they would do at least three crucial things:

1. 1. Break the “career politician” model
      If you know from Day 1 that you have, say, 6–10 years max, you’re not designing your life around clinging to that seat. You’re there to do the work, not become royalty.

1. 1. Reduce the stranglehold of lobbyists and billionaires.
      The longer someone sits in office, the deeper their connections to lobbyists, donors, and insider networks. Fresh turnover doesn’t eliminate corruption, but it makes it harder to build those 40-year influence empires.

1. 1. Force real leadership development.
      Parties would actually have to train the next generation to take over, not keep recycling the same old farts until they can barely stand upright at the podium — or, as in the case of Texas congresswoman Kay Granger, quietly letting an 81-year-old member stop voting for months while she’s living in an assisted-living facility with dementia issues, and still technically holding office.

What would it look like?

Here’s one practical model:

• • House of Representatives
    
    • • Maximum of 3 terms (6 years total).

• • Senate
    
    • • Maximum of 1 full term (6 years), with maybe one shorter appointed/fill-in term allowed — but no more than 10 years total in Congress, combined House + Senate.

You want to serve beyond that? Great. Go home. Be a governor, a mayor, a teacher. Go build Something in the real world. Then, if you’re still relevant, come back in a different role — not as a permanent fixture.

Leadership doesn’t have to be a throne: the Lee Kuan Yew example

There is a better model than “die at your desk.” 

Look at Lee Kuan Yew, the founding Prime Minister of Singapore. He led the country for decades, then stepped down as Prime Minister in 1990 and let a new generation take over. But he didn’t vanish; he served as Senior Minister, and later as Minister Mentor, advising, guiding, and supporting without clinging to the top job forever.

He went from leader → mentor.

From “I am the state” to “I am here to help the next team succeed.”

Was he perfect? No.

But the principle is powerful:

You can love your country enough to let go of the title — and still serve.

Imagine if America had that mindset:

• • A president who can step aside when it’s clear their health or cognitive sharpness is fading — and still be honored as an elder statesman or advisor.

• • A Congress that doesn’t treat leaving office as death, but as part of a healthy cycle of renewal.

Instead, we get the opposite: leaders holding on past their peak while everyone else tiptoes around the obvious.

Trump’s mental decline and a cowardly Congress

So let’s land this where it needs to be.

Donald Trump is now 79 years old. He’s been diagnosed with a chronic vascular condition that causes swelling and blood pooling in his legs. We’ve seen unexplained bruises on his hands, public absences, defensive messaging from the White House, and doctors trying to reassure us that everything is “benign” and “excellent” while visible evidence says otherwise.

At the same time, his speeches are becoming increasingly strange—his stories loop. Names get mixed up. He lashes out, rambles, and contradicts himself within a single sentence.

No, I’m not diagnosing him. But I am saying this:

If this were your pilot, would you get on the plane?
If this were your surgeon, would you demand another doctor?
If this were your CEO, the board would be holding an emergency session to vote him out.

But because it’s the president — and because his party is terrified of his base and addicted to his power — everyone suddenly forgets how to see what’s right in front of them.

A strong, healthy Congress would not be paralyzed in this manner.

A strong Congress would:

• • Put country before party.

• • Demand absolute, independent medical transparency.

• • Have the backbone to say, “If this president cannot perform the job fully and safely, we must act” — whether that means political pressure to step aside, or, in extreme cases, invoking constitutional mechanisms.

Instead, we have a Congress that prioritizes its own power over the public’s. A Congress that would rather risk a national crisis than risk a mean tweet or a primary challenge.

This geriatric politician’s reign is bigger than Trump. But Trump makes it urgent.

My radon story taught me something simple and brutal:

• • Illness doesn’t care about your schedule.

• • Your body doesn’t care about your ego.

• • And when something is wrong, it is wrong whether you admit it or not.

We are watching a system that refuses to admit what it sees — about Biden, about Trump, about aging leadership everywhere in our government.

If we had:

• • Term limits that forced turnover,

• • A culture that honors stepping aside,

• • And a Congress that actually feared betraying the people more than betraying their leader,

Then Trump’s visible decline wouldn’t be a partisan argument. It would be a governance issue that we are obligated to address.

Until then, we’re all passengers on a plane, watching the pilot wobble, and being told to have another drink so no one has to make the hard call.

We deserve better than that.

And the country is running out of time to pretend otherwise.