October 25, 2025

For months, I’ve watched MCFD disregard medical recommendations, twist facts, and punish advocacy while my son, a six-year-old autistic boy with complex medical needs, has suffered because of it. This formal complaint was written after every other avenue for accountability failed: internal reports, oversight calls, follow-up letters, and five separate letters from my lawyer that went unanswered. Each one was met with silence, delay, or deflection.

So I did what every parent is forced to do when systems collapse — I documented everything.

This complaint covers the period between July and October 2025, during which MCFD’s actions repeatedly violated their own Service Delivery Policies, the Child, Family and Community Service Act (CFCSA), and basic principles of decency. It lays out how a government ministry tasked with protecting children instead created risk through negligence, retaliation, and a culture of avoidance that thrives in the absence of oversight.

It’s not written in emotion, though there’s plenty to feel. It’s written in evidence: case records, hospital discharge notes, policy citations, and the laws they broke in plain language. What happened to Bennett wasn’t a misunderstanding or a paperwork error. It was a sequence of choices… conscious, documented, and devastatingly predictable.

This is the complaint they can’t ignore, because it relies on fact. And facts, once written down, can’t be spun.

Background

For six years, I was the constant in Bennett’s world… his caregiver, medical coordinator, and advocate. Every routine, every appointment, every medication was handled with precision and care. The 2020 Supreme Court order made it official: I was Bennett’s sole guardian and full-time residential parent. His father’s access remained supervised because professionals agreed that was what kept Bennett safe and stable.

Bennett’s life wasn’t easy, but it was secure. His days were built around structure and trust… his feeding schedule, sensory breaks, and medical routines all carefully balanced by a team of specialists who knew him well. He lives with complex conditions: autism with language impairment, chronic gastrointestinal illness, and a G-tube that provides his primary nutrition. Managing that isn’t guesswork; it takes experience, training, and consistency. That’s what his team and I provided.

I warned MCFD for months that my health was deteriorating and that an emergency care plan needed to be in place. Each time, I was brushed off with the same line: “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” When I was hospitalized in July 2025, that bridge collapsed… not because of lack of warning, but because the Ministry refused to prepare for what I’d been telling them all along.

Instead of activating a family-led plan or coordinating with Bennett’s existing professionals, MCFD handed his case to someone new, someone unfamiliar with his medical history, his sensory needs, or the delicate network that kept him stable. Within weeks, years of stability were undone. The safeguards that once protected Bennett were replaced with paperwork, assumptions, and decisions made without the people who actually knew him.

The crisis that followed wasn’t inevitable. It was preventable. And it began the moment those warnings were ignored.

The August Removal – Illegal, Premature, and Harmful

On August 28, 2025, while I was still admitted to the hospital for medical treatment, MCFD authorized the removal of my son. Bennett was still an inpatient, under medical care, with a discharge plan in progress, when the Ministry decided to apprehend him. They did this before I was discharged and before Bennett’s interim guardian, my brother Dylan, could complete the formal discharge process that same afternoon.

That decision ignored a valid Standby Guardianship Form, signed and in effect, naming Dylan as Bennett’s lawful guardian in the event of my temporary incapacity. The Ministry knew about that document. It was in their file, acknowledged in writing, and legally binding under the Family Law Act. They chose to disregard it.

It also ignored the professional warnings that had been sent in writing from Bennett’s psychiatrist, counsellor, and behaviour consultant, all of whom had made it clear that removing him from his trained caregivers would be dangerous. They explained, repeatedly, that Bennett’s G-tube care, sensory regulation, and emotional safety depended on consistency and familiarity. Removing him from that structure would cause harm.

The Ministry did it anyway.

Bennett was placed in a resource home that had no proper medical oversight and no experience caring for a child under twelve with complex medical and developmental needs. From that moment, the structure that had kept him safe was replaced by uncertainty, inexperience, and guesswork. The professionals who had supported him for years… his behavioural team, nurse, counsellor, and me, were all suddenly cut off. No transition, no coordination, no continuity of care.

The removal violated almost every protection set out in the Child, Family and Community Service Act:

• Section 2 — requiring that decisions prioritize the least intrusive, family-based measures;
• Section 5.1 — mandating family participation in care planning; and
• Section 70(1)(a) and (f) — guaranteeing a child’s right to maintain family contact and receive adequate medical care.

Instead of upholding those rights, MCFD replaced them with bureaucratic convenience. What they called “protection” amounted to the dismantling of a medically coordinated environment that had taken years to build. The result was predictable: confusion, instability, and pain for a child who depends on familiarity to survive.

This wasn’t a child protection measure. It was a system failure dressed in paperwork.

September – Retaliation, False Reports, and Emotional Harm

September marked the beginning of what I can only describe as a campaign of retaliation. While I was still recovering in hospital, false claims of neglect were fabricated to justify what had already been done. These allegations, that I wasn’t feeding or bathing my son, directly contradicted every piece of medical evidence on record. Bennett’s feeding challenges have always been physiological, not neglect-based, and are well-documented by the West Coast Feeding Team, BC Children’s Hospital, and multiple clinicians who have worked with him for years.

Even before I had the chance to respond, the Ministry informed me that they had already “assumed guardianship.” The decision was made before any lawful process had taken place, before disclosure, before consultation, before due process could even begin. It wasn’t protection; it was predetermined.

Then came the restrictions.

After Bennett’s removal, a “no-contact” directive was issued against family members, cutting off communication between Bennett, myself, and his interim guardian, Dylan, the very person legally appointed to act in my stead. His iPad, Bennett’s only means of contact and comfort, remained offline until September 10, despite official authorization for contact being granted five days earlier. When FaceTime was finally restored, Bennett’s first words broke me: “It’s scary for me out there.” He begged to come home.

Instead of responding with compassion, the Ministry introduced new visitation rules. FaceTime was limited to one hour per day. I was prohibited from discussing Bennett’s feelings, his health, or anything that acknowledged what he was experiencing. I was told to use scripted phrases like, “Thank you for sharing that; let’s tell staff.” Family advocates and professionals, including those who had known Bennett for years, spoke out, warning that these restrictions would emotionally destabilize him. They were ignored.

Then came the bruises.

At my September 13 visit, I saw unexplained bruises on Bennett’s arms and legs. I immediately reported them to the provincial MCFD screening line, expecting a neutral and urgent response. Instead, the call was redirected back to the very worker whose conduct I was trying to report. No medical exam was ordered. No critical incident report was filed. The concern was buried inside the same bureaucracy that caused it.

In the weeks that followed, Bennett’s distress deepened. His comfort items, his “Mommy blanket,” his stuffed owl Fluffy, and his adhesive wipes for G-tube care, were withheld or delayed, even though his clinicians had explained how vital they were to his regulation and safety. Each delay increased his anxiety and pain. Each ignored request made it clear that his well-being wasn’t the priority.

Even basic truths were rewritten. The Ministry falsely claimed that Bennett hadn’t attended school for 18 months, when records from Fawkes Academy, his specialized autism program, showed full enrolment and funding. They disregarded the Supreme Court’s interim guardianship order naming Dylan and made unilateral decisions about Bennett’s education, medical care, and therapy. The message was clear: family, facts, and professionals would all be silenced in favour of the Ministry’s narrative.

By the end of September, the harm was visible in Bennett’s eyes, in his sleep, in his fear. Every safeguard meant to protect him had been replaced with control. What should have been a period of healing became one of enforced silence and emotional injury, not just for me, but for a child who deserved far better than this.

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October – Ongoing Misrepresentation and Medical Neglect

By October, the pattern was impossible to ignore… delay, deflect, distort. The Ministry’s version of “case management” had become an exercise in rewriting facts faster than I could correct them.

The first major example came with the Family Plan. It was issued on October 10, well past the 30-day requirement under the Child, Family and Community Service Act (CFCSA). Even then, it was riddled with errors; false statements about my parenting, omissions of Bennett’s verified medical history, and goals that had never been discussed with any of his professionals. I was told I needed to sign it immediately, before receiving the disclosure documents my lawyer had been requesting for over a month. Signing would have meant agreeing to falsehoods, legitimizing their version of events before seeing the evidence they claimed to have.

I refused. Not because I was being “uncooperative,” as they like to frame it, but because due process matters. No one should ever be forced to sign a document about their child’s future while blindfolded from the facts.

Meanwhile, the Ministry’s September 4 Report to Court was still being treated as gospel, despite its inaccuracies being proven over and over. It contained outright falsehoods; claiming neglect, denying medical context, and erasing the input of every professional who had warned against Bennett’s removal. Even after letters of correction were sent from multiple clinicians, the Ministry refused to amend or withdraw the report. They simply said, “The report can’t be changed once submitted.” That statement alone revealed everything about their culture, protecting paperwork over people, narrative over truth.

Then there were the safety issues.

At the end of September, I reported exposed electrical wiring near Bennett’s play area at the resource home. Instead of being documented as a critical safety hazard under the Ministry’s own standards, it was simply covered with tape. That was the level of care being provided to a medically fragile child under government supervision.

And on October 20, new bruises appeared; the second time I’d seen visible injuries on my son since his removal. I captured them on FaceTime videos and raised the alarm immediately. Once again, there was no medical assessment. The assigned worker decided to conduct her own “full body check,” taking photos and declaring no further action was needed. That was a direct violation of the Critical Incident Reporting Policy, which requires an independent medical evaluation for any unexplained bruising on a child in care.

The bruises were in the same locations as before… arms, legs, near the hip. The documentation from the HEAL Clinic, which was allegedly used to justify inaction, has still never been disclosed to me or my lawyer. Without it, there’s no way to verify what, if anything, was actually reviewed. The Ministry’s internal conclusion? “No cause for concern.”

All while Bennett’s G-tube site continued to worsen. His G-Tube nurse, the same specialist who had trained me and monitored his care since getting his G-Tube in October 2024, has not yet been contacted despite this being a concern I’ve raised since September. I described how the granulation tissue had grown, how it was leaking, how Bennett winced when touched. The response was silence. No appointment, no coordination, no plan. They relied on “informal visual checks” from staff with no medical credentials, while his condition visibly worsened.

Untreated granulation tissue can lead to infection, leakage, and the need for surgical repair. For Bennett, it meant irritation every day, because the system that claimed to protect him couldn’t be bothered to follow its own protocols.

By the end of October, it was clear: what began as neglect had become something worse… systemic indifference. Facts were buried, safety standards ignored, and a medically complex child was left to suffer because bureaucracy always comes first.

This wasn’t oversight. It was avoidance… deliberate, documented, and devastatingly routine.

Professional Consensus Ignored

Every professional who knew Bennett; his psychiatrists, counsellor, BCBA, and nurse, said the same thing: separating him from his trained caregivers would cause serious harm. Not “might.” Not “possibly.” Would.

These weren’t emotional pleas; they were written medical and behavioural warnings grounded in evidence and years of experience. His psychiatrist emphasized that Bennett’s anxiety and attachment needs made consistency essential to his mental stability. His counsellor warned that separation without a gradual transition would trigger panic, regression, and loss of trust. His BCBA explained that removing his trained behavioural team mid-intervention would undo months of progress and set back his communication, regulation, and daily living skills.

These were not vague suggestions… they were professional directives.

Instead of listening, MCFD retaliated.

They shut every professional out. Appointments were cancelled, care plans ignored, and staff who tried to advocate for Bennett were silenced. His long-time behavioural consultant was physically escorted off hospital grounds during an active therapy session immediately upon removal, because she did anything wrong, but because she stood her ground. She refused to abandon a child mid-session when she knew the emotional fallout it would cause. That’s what accountability looks like in practice, and the system couldn’t tolerate it.

From that point on, MCFD isolated Bennett from everyone who understood him. His care team, the people who had kept him stable and safe, were replaced with unfamiliar staff, many of whom had no training in autism, trauma-informed practice, or G-tube care. Professionals who had worked with him for years were treated as obstacles rather than partners.

This wasn’t about protecting a child. It was about control. Control over the narrative, control over the file, control over who was allowed to speak. Every credentialed voice that contradicted their decisions was systematically removed from Bennett’s circle of care.

The result was predictable… and they were warned about it.

When professionals are silenced and parents are treated as adversaries, children like Bennett pay the price. The Ministry wasn’t short on expertise; they just refused to use it.

Ongoing Harm

Bennett’s decline hasn’t been subtle. It’s been visible, measurable, and exactly what every professional warned would happen.

Since his removal, his anxiety has escalated to levels that even his psychiatrist called “clinically alarming.” He now experiences disrupted sleep cycles, and prolonged hypervigilance, the same symptoms that had previously stabilized under consistent care. His weight has dropped.

The therapies that once kept him grounded; occupational therapy, behavioural intervention, play therapy, have all fallen away. The professionals who knew how to read his cues and regulate his environment are gone, replaced with rotating staff who don’t understand his needs or his language. What was once structured support has turned into managed chaos.

These aren’t abstract harms; they’re documented in medical notes, school reports, and daily records from those who still manage to see him. Every outcome was predicted. Every one was preventable.

The Ministry’s own laws and policies spell out exactly what they failed to uphold:

• Section 2 of the CFCSA requires decisions to be guided by the child’s safety and best interests, with family inclusion as a central principle.
• Section 5.1 mandates that families and professionals must be meaningfully involved in care planning — not sidelined or erased.
• Section 70 guarantees children in care the right to medical oversight, emotional well-being, and family connection.

Each of these rights was broken. Not in theory, but in practice, through missed medical follow-ups, silenced professionals, restricted family contact, and environments that fail to meet even basic safety standards.

What’s happening to Bennett isn’t an anomaly. It’s the natural consequence of a system that prioritizes liability management over child welfare, and optics over outcomes. The Ministry’s Service Delivery and Public Service Values policies promise dignity, collaboration, and accountability. Instead, what we’ve witnessed is secrecy, isolation, and indifference.

The harm continues not because it’s unseen, but because it’s easier to ignore than to admit fault. And for Bennett, a medically complex, autistic child whose world depends on trust and routine, that neglect is not abstract. It’s lived, daily, in his body and in his fear.

Systemic Failure and Oversight Complaints

By this point, the issue wasn’t just one rogue worker or one poorly handled case. It was systemic. Every level of oversight that should have intervened either deflected, delayed, or disappeared behind procedural walls. So, I took it to the highest channels available, for accountability.

I filed formal complaints with every oversight body that exists to monitor public service conduct and child welfare. Each one now sits as part of the official record:

• BC Ombudsperson – detailing systemic failure, neglect, and retaliation against a parent for lawful advocacy. This complaint outlines how repeated warnings were ignored, professionals were silenced, and procedural safeguards under the Child, Family and Community Service Act were bypassed to protect the Ministry’s image instead of my son’s safety.
• Patient Care Quality Office (PCQO) – addressing hospital discharge failures, G-tube management negligence, and the lack of nursing oversight during and after Bennett’s hospitalization. It details how critical continuity of care was severed because no one would take responsibility for coordinating between medical and ministry systems; a failure that placed a medically fragile child in direct harm.
• BC Human Rights Tribunal – filed on the grounds of discrimination based on family status and disability. The complaint cites how my health condition and Bennett’s disabilities were used as justifications for MCFD interference, rather than as grounds for accommodation and support. It challenges the idea that a disabled parent can be treated as a liability instead of a partner in their child’s care.

Every one of these complaints is now active, documented, and cross-referenced with evidence: hospital records, legal correspondence, and professional statements. Each one represents a layer of accountability that should have existed before this harm ever happened.

And yet, despite months of letters, meetings, and confirmations from MLAs, advocates, and oversight officials, the message has remained the same: “We recognize the seriousness of your concerns, but we cannot intervene until MCFD completes its internal process.”

The same internal process that failed from the start.

These systems were designed to protect against exactly this kind of bureaucratic rot, but when the same institution gets to investigate its own failures, “oversight” becomes theatre. The Ombudsperson can issue recommendations, but not orders. The PCQO can review medical errors, but not enforce correction. The Human Rights Tribunal can recognize discrimination, but only after years of proceedings.

In the meantime, Bennett remains caught in the crossfire of inaction.

The truth is, this isn’t about one family anymore. It’s about what happens when every door meant to ensure accountability leads back to the same hallway. A child can’t wait years for justice. And neither should any parent who dares to demand it.

Requested Actions and What Accountability Should Look Like

Accountability isn’t about revenge. It’s about repair.

After months of silence, harm, and systemic denial, I outlined nine specific actions that represent the bare minimum needed to begin correcting the damage done; both to Bennett and to the public trust that MCFD continues to erode.

1. A full independent investigation into the conduct of the Ministry and its employees involved in Bennett’s removal, case management, and ongoing misrepresentation. This investigation must include review by an external authority, not internal “quality assurance.”
2. Immediate correction of false statements made in official documents, including the Report to Court, internal case notes, and the Family Plan. Factual errors must be amended in writing and redistributed to every recipient agency and professional.
3. Reinstatement of Bennett’s therapeutic supports — behavioural intervention, counselling, occupational therapy, and feeding team follow-up, exactly as they existed prior to his removal. These are not luxuries. They are medically essential interventions backed by clinical recommendation.
4. Restoration of Bennett’s nursing oversight and G-tube care under the supervision of his G-Tube Nurse. Any delegated medical care must comply with BCCNM standards for nursing delegation and supervision.
5. Formal recognition of Dylan’s lawful guardianship and inclusion in all planning and decision-making processes as ordered by the court. The Ministry cannot continue to disregard a standing judicial order for administrative convenience.
6. A full medical review of Bennett’s physical condition since his removal, including assessments of his G-tube site, nutrition status, and any injuries sustained during placement, conducted by independent medical professionals.
7. Reinstatement of daily contact and family-based visits in accordance with Section 70(1)(a) of the CFCSA, ensuring Bennett’s emotional safety and right to maintain a meaningful relationship with family.
8. A formal written apology from the Ministry acknowledging the procedural and ethical breaches that have occurred, including the silencing of professionals and the retaliation against advocacy.
9. Policy reform — the creation of a mandatory escalation protocol for medically complex children in care, requiring multi-disciplinary review before any removal or major placement change can occur.

These are not unreasonable requests. They are the basic standards of lawful, ethical child protection that should have been followed from day one.

What accountability should look like is simple: transparent correction of errors, restoration of care, and acknowledgment of harm. Anything less is another layer of neglect disguised as process.

Because this isn’t just about my child. It’s about every family who has watched a public system rewrite the truth and call it “protection.”

This complaint, and the evidence behind it, exists so that no one can say, “We didn’t know.” They know now. And what they do next will show whether accountability still means anything at all.

The Record Will Outlast the Silence

Every word in this complaint was written because silence didn’t work.
Silence didn’t stop the harm. It didn’t bring oversight. It didn’t protect my son.

So I wrote it all down, the dates, the emails, the policies ignored, the names of those who watched and did nothing. Because when the system forgets, the record remembers.

Bennett’s story is not an isolated tragedy; it’s a mirror reflecting what happens when power operates without accountability. When bureaucrats rewrite medical facts to fit a narrative. When professionals are punished for telling the truth. When a mother is treated like a problem to be managed rather than a partner in her child’s care.

Every safeguard that was supposed to protect him failed. Every internal process meant to correct those failures only protected the Ministry itself. And yet, every fact remains. Every document exists. Every policy they broke can be traced back to a line of ink and a date.

I can’t undo what’s been done, but I can make sure it’s impossible to pretend it didn’t happen. That’s what this complaint is. It’s a record, a blueprint of failure, but also a call to rebuild.

For Bennett, accountability isn’t abstract. It’s the difference between safety and suffering. Between healing and harm. Between truth and the story they keep trying to tell instead.

Paper trails don’t lie.
And no matter how long this takes, mine will outlast their silence.