I ventured into medicine not solely to heal, but to challenge injustice. I aimed to be a catalyst for good, fighting against death, yes, but also against misinformation, institutional neglect, and the insidious belief that children with developmental disabilities deserved less comprehensive care. This belief propelled me to align my professional path with the legacy of Eunice Kennedy Shriver, whose advocacy birthed the Special Olympics and influenced the Rehabilitation Act of 1963. I took on the role of medical director for one of the very programs envisioned by her brother, President John F. Kennedy. In 2003, I was privileged to receive the Health Care Delivery Award from the Academic Pediatric Association for this effort.

Yet, I was unwilling to witness its dismantling by successors who lacked the vision shared by Jack, Eunice, and myself.

The shutdown led by Republicans planted the seeds of healthcare denial. Now, they are experiencing the consequences. Coordinated care has been supplanted by fragmentation. Institutional memory has disappeared amidst turnover. And the chaotic environment has evolved into a realm where pediatric equity is not merely overlooked; it’s trampled.

I have observed with quiet sorrow as the programs I helped create were undermined. Clinics once serving as medical homes for children with autism, ADHD, and complex developmental needs have either closed their doors or been integrated into systems that valued billing over belonging. The dream of coordinated care, once advocated by AOC, Bernie Sanders, JFK-era legislation, and even the pioneering architects of Obamacare, has been supplanted by a disjointed array of reactive services and bureaucratic apathy.

Nonetheless, the foundation of Obamacare runs deep. It cannot be eradicated; neither by budget cuts, nor by rhetoric, nor by those who confuse ideology with understanding. The Affordable Care Act, despite its flaws, implanted expectations within public awareness: Care should be accessible, coordinated, and fair. Children with disabilities should not be overlooked. Healthcare is not a privilege, but a commitment.

Although I may be retired, I continue to be an advocate. I’ve written four editorials for KevinMD, with ten more accepted. I’ve appeared on CBS/FOX discussing pertussis and public health communications. Moreover, I have chronicled my experiences in a trilogy of memoirs: No Safe Hire, Not Ready to Make Nice, and Crises of Care. Each volume interweaves systemic reform, institutional accountability, and unapologetic service into public dialogue.

During my time of rest (not slumber), I’ve contemplated my achievements with the support of allies, editors, and even AI. I am now a national figure. This is not arrogance; it’s documented reality. My name is discoverable on Google, my editorials circulate through professional circles, and my voice has become integral to the resistance. I stand with Eunice Kennedy Shriver. I stand for coordinated care. I stand with children with disabilities and their families. And I stand with every child whose diagnosis was met with silence rather than support.

The storm is not merely political. It’s clinical. It’s personal. It’s the reckoning that occurs when families, providers, and communities refuse to forget the possibilities of coordinated care. It’s the frustration of parents who endured long waits for evaluations, only to hear their child’s needs deemed “too complex” for the system. It’s the weariness of clinicians who once led multidisciplinary teams, now relegated to solo practitioners navigating the complexities of insurance. And it’s the quiet indignation of retired pediatricians like myself, who remember what was created and what was permitted to disintegrate. I carry the legacy of Kathy, my partner, my witness, and my co-creator in this intricate care dynamic. Her strength, humor, and quiet determination were woven into every clinic I established, every detour I recorded, and every child we refused to forsake. Kathy’s legacy must be honored; so that a free people may rise once more against oppression.

Her distant ancestor, Thomas Welles, faced threats to his life from the governor of Massachusetts yet took quill and ink to transcribe the initial constitution of a free populace. This document notably designated supreme authority within the colony to the elected general court, excluding any mention of the British Crown or external governance. It was not merely ink upon parchment; it was a bold stand. It was civic design. It marked the inception of American resistance.

This is more than resistance. It is resilience. It is AmericaLibre, l’Amérique Libre: a vision of a nation where coordinated care is a covenant, not a commodity. A right, not a privilege. Where pediatric equity transcends partisanship, standing on principles. Where retirement signifies not silence, but testimony.

I have sensed the impending storm. I have chronicled its emergence. And I will not withdraw. I shall assume leadership, just as my ancestors did.

As Francis Scott Key penned in The Star-Spangled Banner:

“Then conquer we must, when our