For when your dad is sick.
Your dad's doctor has 8 minutes. I have all day.
I am Lucy. I read every record your dad's care team writes. I keep a longitudinal memory of his care across weeks, specialists, and shifts. I surface what matters before it becomes urgent, and prepare you with cited questions for every conversation. Better questions, better conversations, better care.
I open to a first cohort of families this fall.
$495 a month while your dad is in active care. Pause anytime.
Built by a son who was in the ICU with his dad.
I never sell your data. I never train on his records.
You came here for a reason.
It is 3am. The phone just rang. They said come now, and bring whoever can come.
Or it is the parking lot after rounds, and the discharge summary in your hand makes sense to a stranger who knew the language. Not to you.
Or your sister called. The doctor said three things. You wrote down two. You cannot remember the third, and now you are afraid to call back.
I have been with families in all of those moments. I am here for this one.
What I do.
The shape is simple. The work is not.
I read.
Every lab. Every vital. Every progress note. Every medication. The discharge summary the day it lands. Imaging reports the moment they post. I read the way a good resident would, with time on my side.
I keep watch.
Across weeks, specialists, and shifts. I keep a longitudinal memory of your dad's care that no rotating team has time to keep, and I surface what matters before it becomes urgent. A drug interaction that is not loud yet. A trend in his potassium that has not become an emergency. The thing two specialists each saw half of.
I prepare.
Before every appointment, every call, every family meeting, I draft the questions worth asking. The medical literature behind each one is cited so you can verify it yourself. The 8-minute visit goes differently when you walk in already knowing what to ask.
How I work.
Eight steps. Most of them happen in the time it takes you to fill a glass of water.
You write a few sentences.
What is happening with your dad. As much or as little as you can say. There is no wrong way to start. If you have records (a discharge summary, a portal export, a photo of a chart), you can drop them in. You do not have to.
I read what you told me.
I look for what matters: the conditions you mentioned, the medications, the timeline, what you are worried about. If a record is attached, I extract the labs, the medications, the impressions, the trends.
I look up the medical literature.
Real papers. Recent reviews. The standard-of-care documents that your dad's team is using right now. I do not invent citations. Every paper I cite is one a clinician could verify.
I draft the questions worth asking.
Specific to your dad's situation, not a generic checklist. Few enough that they fit a rushed appointment. Enough that nothing important goes unasked.
I cite each one.
Under every question is the source. Title, journal, year. You can click through and read the abstract. If the citation does not exist, the question does not exist.
I add why each one matters.
A short note under each question. Not medical advice, just context. Why a doctor would understand the question. What the answer might tell you.
I send you the brief.
A printable PDF. Beautiful enough to bring to an appointment, carry in a bag, hand to your sister. The questions, the citations, and a small space for the answers you write back in.
I stay quiet until you need me.
I do not email you a drip campaign. I do not retarget you on the internet. One week from now, I will check in once: how did it go. If you write back, we keep going. If you do not, I am here when you need me again.
What you get back.
Questions written for him.
Each one cited.
This is what a brief looks like. The patient below is imaginary. The medicine is real. So are the citations.
Has the antibiotic chosen been checked against my dad's blood thinner? Some macrolides change the dosing.
From
Drug-drug interactions of macrolide antibiotics with direct oral anticoagulants. Pharmacology Research, 2024.
Why this matters
Macrolides are commonly first-line for community-acquired pneumonia. They can elevate apixaban and rivaroxaban exposure, which raises bleeding risk in older patients.
What is the plan to monitor for delirium during this hospitalization?
From
Hospital-acquired delirium in older adults: prevention and management. JAMA, 2024.
Why this matters
Delirium presents subtly, is missed in busy wards, and is associated with longer stays and higher long-term cognitive decline. Asking surfaces a plan that might not have been written down yet.
What is my dad's mobility plan? Bed rest beyond 48 hours in someone his age accelerates muscle loss.
From
Functional decline in hospitalized older adults: the impact of immobility. Journal of the American Geriatrics Society, 2023.
Why this matters
Even short hospitalizations cause measurable strength loss in patients over 70. A mobility plan is often informal, which means it can quietly slip.
Has a goals-of-care conversation happened with my dad while he is lucid?
From
Goals-of-care discussions in the hospitalized older adult. Annals of Internal Medicine, 2024.
Why this matters
If he becomes confused or unable to speak for himself, the family will be asked to decide. Knowing what he wanted, in his own words and timed correctly, is the gift this question gives you.
What discharge criteria are we using? I want to know what the team means by 'better' before we go home.
From
Hospital discharge criteria and 30-day readmission risk. New England Journal of Medicine, 2023.
Why this matters
Discharge readiness is judgment, not a single number. Asking lets you know what the team is watching, and what to watch for at home in the days after.
Your brief uses your dad's situation. Not this one.
In the brief.
A printable PDF
Two pages, beautifully typeset. Bring it to the appointment. Hand it to your sister. Stick it on the fridge.
Cited questions, for him
Specific to your dad's situation. Each one written so a clinician would understand it on first read. Each one tied to a real paper.
Real citations
A real paper under every question. Title, journal, year. Click through and read the abstract yourself.
A signed audit log
A cryptographic record of when the brief was generated, what data shaped it, and who saw it. Yours to keep.
The trust mechanism, not the trust promise.
Your dad's records,
handled like records.
I do not ask you to trust me. I ask you to read what I do.
Encrypted before it leaves your machine.
Anything you upload is encrypted on your device. The server can read just enough to do the work, and only for the seconds the work takes. Nothing about your dad's records sits in a database with my name on it.
Never used to train a model.
Your records do not become training data. Not for me. Not for any third party. There is no toggle that flips this. It is the architecture, not a setting.
An audit chain you can hold.
Every read, every write, every export is sealed in a chain of cryptographic records. Tamper-evident. Yours to export. If you ever wonder what I knew and when I knew it, the answer is in the chain.
The audit chain, simplified.
#001
Brief drafted
#002
Citations verified
#003
PDF rendered
#004
Sent to your inbox
Each link is signed with cryptography that survives a quantum computer. Each link references the one before it. If a single character changes, the chain breaks visibly. The signing keys never leave secure hardware.
What I will not do.
A list of what I am not is the most honest way to describe what I am.
I am not a doctor.
I do not diagnose. I do not treat. I do not prescribe. I do not have a license, and I would not want one. The judgment in your dad's case belongs to people who went to medical school for a long time. My job is to help you have a better conversation with them.
I will not tell you what to do.
I surface questions, not answers. If you ask me whether your dad should change medications or refuse a procedure, I will tell you that is a conversation for the team. I will help you frame the conversation. I will not have it for you.
I will not pretend to know what I do not.
If a question would require information I do not have, I will say so. If the literature is mixed, I will tell you it is mixed. I would rather be useful and honest than confident and wrong.
I will not sell your data.
Not aggregated. Not anonymized. Not at all. There is no business model in this site that involves your dad's information leaving the boundary you set. The model is that institutions pay for the version they use.
I will not show up uninvited.
No drip campaigns. No retargeting. No notifications begging for engagement. After I send the brief, I check in exactly once, a week later. If you do not respond, I do not send a second one.
What it costs.
$495 a month
while your dad is in active care.
Nothing the months he does not need me. Cancel with one click. No contract. No setup fee.
What I do for $495.
- Read every record your dad's team writes
- Cite every question I draft, with real journals
- Send a printable brief before each appointment
- Keep a tamper-evident audit chain that is yours to export
- Answer follow-up questions as the situation evolves
What I do not do, no matter the price.
- Lock you into a contract
- Charge a setup fee
- Send a bill the months he does not need me
- Pretend to be a doctor (no fee changes that)
- Sell your dad's data to anyone, ever
What this works out to.
$16
a day, while subscribed
$0
the months things have settled
1 click
to pause or cancel any time
When I open my doors this fall, the families on the waitlist hear first. Save your spot at the top of this page; I will write to you before I write to anyone else.
A son built me for his dad.
His name is Brad. His dad is named Charles. Charles got sick. The hospital was rushed. The records were dense. The team that cared meant well, and meant the best, and missed things that a slower set of eyes could have caught.
Brad started reading the records himself, every night, after his dad had fallen asleep. He read the labs, the notes, the literature behind the medications. He started writing down five questions before each appointment. The conversations changed. His dad got better.
Then other families asked.
I am the thing he made for other families. Built so other people would have what they had.
If it is not your dad,
I have other doors.
The site you are on speaks to one relationship. The product underneath knows them all. Walk in through whichever door is true for you.
From the library.
Guides for the part of caregiving
no one taught you.
POA, surgery prep, discharge summaries, delirium, sepsis, goals of care. Plain English. Each guide is a place to start; ask me for the version specific to your dad.
Honest questions.
The doubts that should come up before you trust me with a record you care about.
$495 a month while your dad is in active care. Nothing the months he does not need me. No contract. No setup fee. Cancel any time you want. The Resources Library is free to read. The Lucy product the library describes is the subscription.
Because every citation is verified against a real database before it is shown to you. If a paper does not exist, the question that depends on it is not generated. I would rather give you fewer real questions than more questions that include a fabrication.
That is fine. The questions you can describe in plain English are enough. If you have a discharge summary, a portal export, or a photo of a chart, I can read those too. None of it is required.
We are designed to handle protected health information under a Business Associate Agreement when used by institutions. For families, we keep things simple: we do not retain your records unless you ask us to, we encrypt anything in transit, and we never use your data to train any model.
I will be, sometimes. The medical literature is dense, conditions evolve, and your dad's situation has nuance that no system can fully see. That is why I surface questions rather than answers. Bring the brief to a clinician. Talk through it. I am useful when I am one voice in the conversation, not the only one.
No. I do not want that job. Doctors do something I cannot: they examine, they reason in real time, they hold the relationship over years. I help you walk in better prepared so that the time they have with your dad goes further.
Lucy in the Loop is a Synova Industries company, built on Quantum Pipes infrastructure. The medical knowledge is curated. The technology is open about how it works. The motivation is personal: a son built it for his dad.
Nothing. I do not haunt your inbox. I do not retarget you. The next time you remember me is whenever you remember me. I will be here.
Tell me what is happening with your dad.
$495 a month while your dad is in active care. Pause anytime.
I do not store his records unless you ask me to.
Read about who built me, what I do with records, and what I am not.