I Wrote About My Son Yesterday. Today I Sent His Doctor a Letter.

What happens when you can’t show up in person — and why showing up on paper matters more than most parents realize.

An organized workspace featuring a letter addressed to a child's doctor, a coffee mug with 'FATHER & CO.' written on it, and a framed quote about presence. The letter discusses documenting a child's medical concerns and staying involved as a parent.

By Michael Phillips | Father & Co.


Yesterday, I published a piece about my son Dylan for Parental Alienation Awareness Day. He’s 7. I haven’t had parenting time since he was 4. I wrote it because silence isn’t something I’m willing to contribute to anymore.

Today, I had to make a different kind of decision.

Dylan has a scheduled doctor’s appointment on April 27. I have court-ordered parenting rights. I also have a documented history of what happens when I walk into that office — a prior appointment where his mother created a disruptive scene, where I raised legitimate concerns about his wellbeing, and where I somehow left looking like the problem.

So I’m not going. Not yet. Instead, I sent a letter.


What I wrote to his doctor wasn’t a complaint. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a straightforward account of facts: that I’m uncomfortable attending in person due to prior conflict, that I’ve been denied court-ordered access since January 2024, that I’ve seen Dylan once — at a school event — in that entire period, that I attempted to follow the doctor’s own recommendation about family therapy and was rebuffed, and that I don’t want my absence from the appointment to be read as indifference.

I asked that my concerns be documented in Dylan’s medical record. I asked for updates on his health. I included a link to yesterday’s article.

That’s it. No drama. No ultimatum.


Why This Matters Beyond My Case

Most parents in alienation situations are told, implicitly or explicitly, to stay calm and avoid conflict. That advice isn’t wrong on its face. But it gets weaponized. “Avoiding conflict” slides into absence. Absence gets recorded. And recorded absence becomes the story.

Here’s the legal reality that too many targeted parents don’t know: under HIPAA and the default rules governing parental rights, a non-custodial parent generally retains the right to access their child’s medical records unless a court order specifically restricts it. That right doesn’t evaporate because one parent controls the appointment schedule. You may not be in the room, but you are still legally a parent.

Acting on that — documenting that you asked, that you cared, that you followed up — matters in ways that may not be visible until much later, when a record is actually examined.


What the Letter Does

It establishes, in writing, that as of April 26, 2026, Dylan’s father was aware of this appointment, attempted to engage, documented barriers to his involvement, and requested that his concerns be preserved in the medical record.

If that record is ever reviewed — by a court, a guardian ad litem, a therapist — it will show one parent trying to stay connected and one parent controlling the access point. That’s not an accusation. That’s documentation. And documentation is the only currency that survives contested narratives.


The Discomfort Is the Point

I’m not writing this because it felt good to send that letter. It didn’t. It felt like another entry in a legal file that has been building for years — another carefully worded document navigating a minefield I didn’t create.

But the discomfort of documenting yourself is nothing compared to the cost of not doing it.

I wrote yesterday about what it looks like from inside parental alienation. This is what it looks like the day after. The work doesn’t pause for awareness days. You file the motion. You send the letter. You build the record.

Dylan turned 7 last month. I was denied my time then. I will still be here when he turns 8.


Logo design featuring 'FATHER & CO.' with a lighthouse symbol in a circular format, navy and gold color scheme.

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Michael Phillips

Michael Phillips is a journalist, editor, creator, IT consultant, and father. He writes about politics, family-court reform, and civil rights.

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