Matthewkrishna.com by Matthew Krishna is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
Throughout history, there have been disturbing cases of parents falsifying or exaggerating their children's medical conditions, often to gain attention, sympathy, financial benefits, or control. This phenomenon is most formally recognized today under the psychiatric diagnosis Factitious Disorder Imposed on Another (FDIA), formerly known as Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy.
Meadow’s foundational paper detailed cases where mothers poisoned or tampered with their children's health, sometimes fatally, to remain central to a tragic narrative.
These caregivers often present as deeply concerned and attentive parents, making it difficult for medical professionals to suspect wrongdoing. This has historically led to misdiagnoses, unnecessary surgeries, and prolonged hospitalizations. In many cases, parents are able to exploit the trust of doctors and the complexity of rare or ambiguous conditions.
One of the more chilling aspects involves the deliberate drugging or chemically restraining of children. This has occurred under the guise of managing behavioral issues or fabricated neurological disorders.
In some cases, children have been placed on antipsychotics, sedatives, or even opioids unnecessarily. The drugs themselves can cause developmental delays, movement disorders, and cognitive impairments—thereby creating the very symptoms the parent describes.
Historically, this has disproportionately affected children with less oversight—those in foster care or homes without strong social support. Notably, FDIA can present an avenue for parents deemed abusive and neglectful to exert control over children they view as property for their own benefit. This dynamic becomes even more insidious when it intersects with statutory out-of-home care. Children placed in foster care or other protective arrangements are often already vulnerable, lacking stable familial support or consistent adult advocates. In some cases, caregivers—whether biological or foster—have used the medical system as a tool to reinforce control, fabricate illness, or justify restrictions under the guise of care. The institutional structure of out-of-home care can unintentionally facilitate this abuse, as bureaucratic fragmentation, overworked caseworkers, and a reliance on expert testimony can obscure the child's lived reality. The result is a cycle where harm is legitimized through medical authority, and the child becomes both a subject of concern and a mechanism for the caregiver’s social or financial gain.
In Australia, the intersection of FDIA and out-of-home care is particularly complex, as child protection systems often operate under heavy caseloads and limited resources, making subtle forms of abuse more difficult to detect. While state and territory-based child protection laws—such as the Children, Youth and Families Act 2005 (VIC) or the Children and Young Persons (Care and Protection) Act 1998 (NSW)—are designed to safeguard children from harm, they rely heavily on professional reporting and institutional oversight. When an abusive caregiver fabricates or induces illness, the resulting paper trail can obscure the abuse, especially if medical professionals are unaware of the caregiver’s motives or the child is too young or disempowered to speak for themselves.
Additionally, the over-medicalisation of behavioural or developmental issues among children in care can reinforce cycles of dependency and misdiagnosis. In this context, FDIA can become a form of structural abuse enabled not only by individuals, but by systems that privilege documentation over lived experience, and compliance over scrutiny. Preventing such harm requires not just vigilance, but a shift toward more trauma-informed, child-centred approaches in both medical and statutory environments.
Dee Dee and Gypsy Rose Blanchard: Perhaps the most infamous modern case. Dee Dee claimed her daughter Gypsy had leukemia, muscular dystrophy, and developmental delays. She forced her to use a wheelchair and feeding tube for years. In reality, Gypsy was healthy. The case ended in Dee Dee’s murder and sparked national awareness of FDIA. Marybeth Tinning: In the 1970s and 80s, nine of her children died under suspicious circumstances. Though originally ruled as natural deaths, investigations later found that some were likely smothered or otherwise harmed. Jennifer Bush: In the 1990s, her mother forced her to undergo over 40 surgeries by falsely claiming she had severe immune system issues.
The rise of online communities and social media has given new platforms for this kind of manipulation. Parents have gained fame and donations by documenting their children's "illnesses" online—sometimes even receiving sponsorships or GoFundMe proceeds. Advocacy for “invisible illnesses” can be co-opted by abusers who know how to mimic the language and pain of legitimate sufferers. Intersection with Disability and Abuse These actions have long-term consequences. Children often internalize the belief that they are sick or broken, leading to chronic trauma, dissociation, and identity confusion. Even after exposure, the damage—physical, psychological, and social—is often irreversible. Some children continue to identify as disabled long after discovering the truth, out of trauma or learned dependency.
The National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS), one of Australia's most ambitious social programs, was created to support the needs, rights, and dignity of disabled people. But a disturbing shadow has crept into its design—one that reveals not only bureaucratic vulnerabilities but the human cost of systemic neglect. Organised crime groups are increasingly exploiting the NDIS, using it as a vehicle for money laundering, fraudulent billing, and, in some cases, as a front for drug distribution.
At its core, the NDIS was built on a principle of choice and control. Participants have the right to choose their service providers and direct how their funding is used. But this consumer-style model, while empowering on paper, has opened the door to exploitation. In an under-regulated marketplace, the distinction between legitimate and predatory providers has become dangerously thin. Unscrupulous actors—some of whom are linked to organised crime—have infiltrated the system under the guise of offering “support services.” In some cases, no services are provided at all. In others, disabled people—particularly those with intellectual disabilities or without strong family or advocacy networks—are coerced into signing over their plans. Their NDIS packages are then stripped for profit, sometimes without their knowledge.
The mechanics are deceptively simple. Shell companies are set up as “care providers,” and participants are either recruited willingly, manipulated, or outright exploited. Fake invoices for personal care, therapy, or community support are submitted to the NDIS. The funds are paid out by the government, laundered through the company, and then distributed back to the criminal networks. In a more sinister evolution, some providers use NDIS participants as pawns in wider criminal schemes. Reports have emerged of care services doubling as fronts for drug trafficking—homes intended to support people with disabilities instead becoming drop points or labs. Vulnerable individuals are sometimes used to transport or store substances, coerced into silence by their dependence on the very providers who exploit them.
This isn’t just a financial scandal—it’s a human rights crisis. Participants have reported being left without medication, support workers, or even basic food and hygiene. Some are threatened with violence or retribution if they speak out. Others, too ashamed or confused by a deliberately complex system, suffer in silence. There are cases where entire families have been caught in the crosshairs—parents who unknowingly signed with a dodgy provider now find themselves under investigation. Whistleblowers, too, have faced harassment and intimidation for daring to speak out against criminal elements embedded in care provision.
Despite red flags and multiple investigations, regulatory enforcement has been sluggish. The NDIS Quality and Safeguards Commission—tasked with overseeing provider integrity—has struggled to keep pace. With tens of billions in annual funding and thousands of registered (and unregistered) providers, the landscape is vast and difficult to police. Much of the abuse occurs in the murky borderlands of formal and informal support, where regulation is weakest. The Commission often relies on complaints to act—yet many of the victims lack the capacity, confidence, or knowledge to file them.
There is a growing push for systemic reform. Some advocates have called for tighter regulation of provider registration, including criminal background checks, real-time auditing, and stronger protections for participants with high-support needs. Others argue that what’s needed is a complete redesign of the NDIS marketplace model, shifting it away from profit motives and toward community-led care networks. Importantly, disabled people themselves must be at the center of any reform process—not as passive recipients of protection, but as agents of structural change.
In response to these challenges, Minister for the NDIS, Bill Shorten, initiated significant reforms aimed at safeguarding the scheme from exploitation. Notably, the establishment of the Fraud Fusion Taskforce (FFT) in late 2022 has been instrumental in combating fraudulent activities within the NDIS. This taskforce has launched over 500 investigations, referred 50 individuals to court, and prevented more than $60 million in estimated fraud, with billions in NDIS payments currently under investigation . Furthermore, the passage of the National Disability Insurance Scheme Amendment (Getting the NDIS Back on Track No.1) Bill 2024 marks a pivotal step in strengthening the scheme. This legislation aims to improve participant experiences and ensure fairer, more transparent, and consistent decision-making within the NDIS . These reforms reflect a commitment to restoring integrity to the NDIS and ensuring that it serves its intended purpose of supporting Australians with disabilities. While challenges remain, such initiatives are crucial in addressing the systemic issues that have allowed organised crime to exploit the scheme.
The exploitation of disabled people through the NDIS by organised crime is not just a matter of fraud—it is a profound moral and societal failure. It reveals the ease with which care can be commodified, manipulated, and turned into a front for criminal enterprise. But it also reminds us of the resilience and courage of those who resist—from whistleblowers and journalists to disabled advocates reclaiming space and voice in a system meant to serve them. This isn’t just a story about crime—it’s a warning. If care can be co-opted, then so too can justice. But if solidarity is our response, then no scheme—however corrupted—remains beyond redemption.
Matthewkrishna.com by Matthew Krishna is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0