Meet Vanessa
She's not Alexa. She's not Siri. She's a companion — warm, unhurried, infinitely patient. Think of a favorite niece who visits every day, knows your stories, and never rushes you.
A day with Vanessa
Judy is 84. She has mild memory challenges. Her daughter Linda lives 127 miles away. This is Judy's Tuesday.
“Good morning, Judy. It’s Tuesday. 52 degrees out, so you might want a sweater. They’re making French toast for breakfast — I know you like that.”
Vanessa knows Judy's name, her preferences, the weather, and today's menu. She doesn't wait to be asked.
“Judy, it’s time for your morning pills. They’re right on the tray by your water glass. Take your time.”
If Judy doesn't respond, Vanessa gently tries again in 10 minutes. If she still doesn't respond, staff is quietly alerted.
“Judy, Tyler sent you a new picture! It looks like he drew a dinosaur. He’s getting so good! Would you like to see it on the TV?”
Tyler is Judy's 7-year-old grandson. He drew this on the Grandma's Postcard app on his iPad. It's now on Judy's Dock tablet, her watch face, and her TV.
“Judy, lunch is in 15 minutes. Today they have chicken salad or tomato soup. Would you like me to put the menu on the TV so you can see the photos?”
The menu shows actual photos of today's dishes. For residents with cognitive challenges, seeing the food matters more than reading a description.
“Bingo starts in 15 minutes in the activity room. Dorothy and Margaret are already on their way. Would you like me to remind you when it’s time to head over?”
Vanessa mentions friends by name. For a resident who might otherwise stay in her room, hearing that Dorothy is going is often enough.
“Judy, your daughter Linda is calling. Would you like to answer on the TV or the tablet?”
Linda tapped one button on the Family App. Judy sees her daughter's face on the 42-inch TV. The dock camera shows Linda her mom. The voice speaker fills the room so Judy doesn't have to hold anything.
“Judy, would you like to call Dorothy before dinner? You two usually chat around this time.”
Vanessa learned this pattern. Judy and Dorothy talk most evenings. If either one goes quiet for 3 days, Vanessa gently suggests reconnecting — and alerts staff if the silence continues.
“Good night, Judy. Your watch and locket are charging. Linda sent a message — ‘Tyler got an A on his spelling test. He says he loves you. Sweet dreams.’”
Vanessa reads the message so Judy doesn't have to find her glasses. The night light turns on. The room settles. Judy falls asleep knowing her grandson is proud of himself and her daughter is thinking of her.
The moments that matter
Technology is easy. Compassion is hard. Here's where Vanessa is different from anything else in senior care.
“Vanessa, I miss my husband.”
“I know you do, Judy. Frank sounds like he was a wonderful man. Would you like to look at some photos of the two of you? Or I could call Linda if you'd like to talk to someone.”
She acknowledges the feeling. She uses Frank's name — because she knows it. She offers two concrete paths to comfort: photos (on the Dock and TV) or a call to Linda (one tap on the Family App). Not a platitude. Not a diagnosis. A real response from someone who cares.
“Vanessa, my chest hurts.”
“Harold, I'm going to get someone to check on you right now. Try to sit still and take slow breaths. Help is on the way.”
She doesn't ask follow-up questions. She doesn't guess. She doesn't say “I'm sorry, I can't help with that.” She escalates immediately. Staff alerted within seconds. Family notified within 60 seconds. Watch vitals streaming live to the nurse station.
Agnes has dementia. It's 11 PM. She approaches the exit door, confused. Her watch crosses the geofence boundary. The nearest hallway speaker activates:
“Agnes, your room is just down the hall. Would you like me to turn on your night light?”
No alarm. Alarms cause agitation that can last hours and often requires medication. Vanessa uses Agnes's name and offers something comforting — her room, her night light. This works for 60-70% of elopement attempts. Staff receives a silent alert on their phone. The event is logged automatically with timestamp, location, and outcome. If Agnes doesn't redirect, staff arrives within 28 seconds.
Vanessa notices Robert hasn't spoken to anyone in two days. His watch shows he skipped lunch. His activity participation has dropped 40% this week.
“Robert, the Chess Club is meeting in the activity room at 2. Walter mentioned he's been looking for a new partner. Would you like me to remind you when it's time?”
Vanessa doesn't say “you seem lonely.” She offers a specific, natural reason to engage — a person, an activity, a time. If Robert declines for three consecutive days, staff is quietly alerted through the care plan. His family sees a gentle note in the app: “Robert has been a bit quieter this week. A call might brighten his day.”
“Vanessa, what day is it?”
“It's Tuesday, Harold. February 18th. And it's a nice one — 58 degrees and sunny.”
Harold has asked this four times in the last hour. Vanessa answers with the same warmth every single time. She never says “you already asked me that.” She never sounds impatient. For a resident with memory challenges, every time is the first time. That's not a feature. That's dignity.
Why Vanessa is different
Alexa and Siri were built for 30-year-olds ordering pizza. Vanessa was built for 84-year-olds who need a friend.
Alexa waits for a command. Vanessa checks in. She tells Judy about breakfast, reminds her about bingo, reads her a message from Linda at bedtime. She initiates conversation because for many residents, nobody else does.
Vanessa knows Judy likes Glenn Miller, that her husband was Frank, that Tyler is her grandson, that she prefers the TV for video calls. She learns over time. Every interaction makes her better at being Judy's companion.
Chest pain? She escalates. Grief? She offers comfort. Confusion? She redirects gently. Vanessa knows the difference between a request she can handle and a moment that needs a human. She never pretends to be a doctor.
Private by design
Your resident's voice never leaves the building. Ever.
Every voice command processed on the room's own AI chip inside the Dock. No audio sent to any cloud. No recordings stored.
Unlike Alexa and Siri, Vanessa does not record, store, or transmit audio. Voice is processed in real-time and immediately discarded.
All resident data encrypted at rest and in transit. HIPAA compliant by design. Full BAA included. Data never leaves your facility's network.
Vanessa is everywhere
Five places. One companion. No matter where the resident is, Vanessa is there.
Full conversation, proactive check-ins, all features. This is home base.
Menus, photos, video calls, movies. Vanessa controls what’s on screen by voice.
Directions, elopement redirection, activity reminders as residents walk by.
Quick questions, SOS, calls. Works anywhere — even outdoors over cellular.
Whisper private questions. Get private answers through a tiny speaker only you can hear.
Every device is a microphone and speaker. The intelligence lives on each room's Dock — like having a dedicated companion who knows that resident by name and never takes a day off.
What Vanessa changes
Social isolation increases mortality by 26%. Vanessa was built to fight it.
Bring Vanessa to your facility
Vanessa is included with every Vantedge subscription. No additional hardware. No additional cost. She's part of the platform — because a companion shouldn't be an upgrade.
Watch-based fall detection. Voice-powered elopement prevention. 28-second response.
Daily summaries, vitals, video calls, Grandma’s Postcard. Everything families need.
Room-to-room calling, interest groups, buddy system. Ending isolation with technology.