Is it the peanut allergy or the asthma? Is there an EpiPen? Where? Who does she call first? Every parent of a medically complex kid has rehearsed this exact moment in their head. The stranger in it never has.
Everything the aide needs to know already exists — in a pediatrician’s EHR, in a nurse’s filing cabinet, in a mother’s head. The information exists. It’s just never where the emergency is.
Five engraved words on a bracelet a kid won’t wear. No dosage, no contacts, no instructions — jewelry, frozen at the moment of engraving.
Brilliant — for adults. Kids don’t carry phones. The one audience that needs emergency medical ID most is the one audience it can’t reach.
Decades and billions spent connecting hospitals to hospitals. No teacher’s aide on a playground has Epic access — and never will.
Nobody built for the kid and the stranger. That’s the whole company.
Printable tags for everything a kid actually carries — backpack, lunchbox, jacket, the EpiPen case — all pointing to one living profile a parent controls, on a page that loads for any stranger in under two seconds. No hardware to charge. No app to download. It just works.
No app, no account, no permission dialog. The camera every adult already knows how to use — because since 2020, everyone scans.
Life-threatening alert above the fold. Rescue meds with locations. Emergency contacts as thumb-sized call buttons. Verified by the parent, dated.
Every scan pings Mom and Dad in seconds — time and place. The scariest moment of their week ends with: someone is with him.
Because the person who finds him usually isn’t a nurse. Aware compiles each child’s emergency guidance before it’s ever needed — from clinical protocols, in plain words, verified by the parent — and serves it as instantly as the page itself. What to tell 911. What to do until help arrives. What never to do.
No AI runs in the emergency. Prepared, never improvised — in a market of healthcare chatbots, that restraint is the product. And to a parent, it’s simpler than architecture: Wren is there when you can’t be. Just as knowledgeable. Just as aware.
Since 2020, scanning a QR is universal adult muscle memory — menus, payments, boarding passes. The gesture Wren depends on required zero education. We inherited it.
Digital health raised $7.4B in H1 2026 — but 45% went to 20 megadeals, and with AI now table stakes, investors are explicitly hunting what AI alone can’t provide: network effects, community trust — and AI applied with clinical restraint. Our answer is two slides back: intelligence that prepares, never improvises.
A decade of consumer health subscriptions normalized paying for peace of mind. Wren costs less than one month of most family streaming stacks — for the worst four seconds of their lives.
We start where the fear is sharpest — and the pain is proven: food allergy alone costs American families $33B a year out of pocket.
Then the platform: 53M Americans care for an adult family member. Same engine, same circle, new profile type — Iris for aging parents, Atlas for adults. The wedge is kids; the market is everyone somebody loves.
One family plan. Unlimited kids, unlimited caregivers, unlimited tags, 14-day free trial. No tiers to decode at midnight, no per-seat math on Grandma. Software margins (~90% gross) with no hardware to build, ship, or charge — the tag is a PDF.
FARE moms, JDRF chapters, epilepsy and autism networks — concentrated, high-trust groups where one mother’s recommendation outperforms any CAC budget.
Not shelf-ware: the same profile gets shared weekly — sitters, sleepovers, intake forms — so the value is felt on Tuesdays, not just in emergencies. The renewal isn’t a decision; it’s a reflex.
The Wren parent of 2026 is the Iris customer of 2029 — same account, same trust, new person to protect.
Mrs. Park, Coach T., Grandma, the school nurse — the care circle is our distribution and our lock-in. Leaving Wren means asking five other adults to switch. And every scan in the wild trains one more responder to recognize us: a network effect that runs through scanners, not just users. No patents — the same defensibility as Slack, Notion, and Figma: loved first, defended later.
One engine underneath: Aware performs as each product — pediatric protocols and guardians for kids, geriatric protocols and dignity for elders, self-owned for adults. A new product is a configuration, not a codebase.
Families with medically complex kids. Shipping this quarter — the beachhead where fear is sharpest and communities are tightest.
53M American caregivers of adults. Same engine, 6–12 months post-raise — sold to the Wren parents who already trust us.
Adults managing complex conditions — the critical layer that works even when your phone doesn’t.
Scan view, notifications, care circles, and billing in production. First paying families recruited through allergy- and epilepsy-parent communities.
Retention and circle-density data in hand. Aware’s guided mode ships — parent-verified emergency scripts on every tag. School kits reach nurses’ offices.
Second product opens to the caregivers of aging parents — sold first to the Wren households that already trust the platform.
Priced on renewals, circle density, and two products on one engine — not on projections.
Milestones the next round is priced on: 5,000 paying families, 90%+ annual retention, three anchor communities where Wren is the default recommendation, and Iris in beta.
Leads product, capital, and the communities B-Med Aware serves — the voice in the room with parents, school nurses, and investors alike.
Leads engineering and the platform build — the scan view, the notification loop, and the care-circle engine, all owned in-house from day one.
One full-stack founding engineer at launch; a community lead recruited from inside the allergy-parent world once beta retention proves the channel — because our growth engine is trust, not headcount.
Wren is the first product. B-Med Aware is the promise — the consent-first layer for the people who keep each other alive. Morning, midday, twilight: every person somebody loves, under one sky. Join us for the first four seconds.