Oramemory is one calm place for everyone caring for someone with Alzheimer's. A shared daily record the whole family fills in, with her sleep and steps from Apple Health, help in the moment when the hard hours come, and a simple phone screen the person you love can use on her own.
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Every one of those has an answer inside the app.
Oramemory does not hand you an article. It gives you three steps, on one screen, in words you can follow when you have had four hours of sleep. It shows the stage she is at and what the recent log says, and it asks you to rule out pain, thirst and the toilet before anything else.
This is the week caregivers described to us, on the left. On the right, the same week with one shared place for everyone who loves her.
With OramemoryShe does not get lighter to carry. You stop carrying her alone.
Detailed, organised, actionable. Her usual against this week, the shared log, the guide, the circle, the doctor summary.
Almost nothing on the screen. What is happening now, what comes next, one large button to call you, the voices she knows, a calm breathing screen and a few gentle games. No monitoring language anywhere, nothing that says patient, no test of her memory. She keeps her dignity and her autonomy for as long as possible.
On her iPhone, with her permission, Apple Health fills in last night’s sleep and today’s steps, shown as estimates. If she wears an Apple Watch, its data arrives the same way. Nothing to type at the end of a long day.
Everything else lives where you already look: widgets on your Home Screen, Siri, the evening routine on your Lock Screen, and a Control Center button to log a dose.
What we hold, and what we never do →So Oramemory never treats food as if the diagnosis were alone. You enter her conditions, her allergies, the eating plan her doctor or dietitian gave you, and every medication she takes. From that plan it offers a few simple meal ideas, each with its reason and its source. And the guide covers the hard moments, like the day she will not eat.
Oramemory informs and explains. It does not prescribe, diagnose, or replace your doctor or dietitian.
See the research behind it →{{ e.text }}
Two cousins. Two people we love. One of them was our grandmother.
We are Aziz and Seif. We are cousins, and we grew up in the same kitchen, at the same table, fed by the same woman. When the doctor said Alzheimer’s, nobody in the room knew what to do with the word. There was no plan. There was a leaflet.
What came after was not one moment. It was thousands of small ones. The first time she called one of us by the wrong name. The first meal nobody could account for. The first night she was up at three in the morning, frightened, in a house she had lived in for forty years.
The whole family showed up, and that was the problem nobody warns you about. Six people, six phones, six versions of how she was doing. Someone gave the evening medication. Someone else thought nobody had. The one who lived closest carried everything and slowly stopped sleeping. The ones who lived far away felt useless and said the wrong things on the phone.
We did everything we could to keep her world steady. Her music. Her routines. Her food, around the three other conditions she was living with. We read everything. And still, at 3 a.m., we were alone with a search bar and a woman who did not know why she was awake.
Then it happened to a second person we love, and we watched a different family fall into exactly the same holes.
We tried the apps built for looking after ageing parents. Pill reminders. Task lists. Trackers that treated her like a patient and us like staff. Nothing understood the disease. Nothing knew what stage she was at, nothing spoke to the whole family at once, and nothing, anywhere, was built for her to open herself with dignity.
We could not find a single one built for the family around her. So we kept a paper notebook on the kitchen counter, and we kept arguing on the phone.
One evening, after another night like all the others, we said the thing out loud: the product we had wished for through every one of those years did not exist, and we were the ones who knew exactly what it needed to be.
So we built it the way we wish someone had built it for us. Not from a whiteboard, but from a kitchen table. Then we went and sat with other families, with doctors and care centres, to make sure our grief had not made us wrong. It had not. Everyone described the same week we had lived.
We thought our family was unlucky. Then we looked at the numbers, and understood we were describing the most common story in the world.
Behind every one of those numbers is a family like ours, a kitchen table, and someone awake at 3 a.m. That is who Oramemory is for.
We could not build this for her in time. We built it for you.
If you are reading this at 11 p.m. after a hard day with someone you love, you already know why it exists. Leave your email and be one of the first fifty families. It stays free for you, for life.
Aziz & SeifRead our whole story →One price, paid once a year, no monthly plan. It covers up to six people around her: you, your siblings, a professional carer, whoever helps. Start with one week free. And if, at the end of the year, Oramemory has not made this easier, we refund the whole year. That is how sure we are.
Oramemory is being tested now with the first families and arrives on the App Store soon, on iPhone, in English and French. The first fifty families keep it free for life.
Check your inbox to confirm. We will write once, when it arrives on the App Store, and not before, unless it is to tell you that you are one of the first fifty.