Dignity Begins with Understanding

I’ve always followed the simple principle to treat people the way you would want to be treated.

One lesson stayed with me from my time at Imperial College London’s Bioengineering Department: the best engineering begins by understanding people. Technology should adapt to humans, not force humans to adapt to technology. So today, I am writing about my perception of the future of memory care and technology.

If I were living in memory care, would I want someone opening my door to look at me every hour while I slept?

Would I want cameras watching me throughout the day?

Would I want my independence limited simply because the people caring for me didn’t have enough information about how I was doing? I think most of us would not want any of those things.

We’d want to feel safe. But we’d also want privacy. We’d want people to understand us. That’s why I believe the future of memory care is going to be about providing more understanding for each individual.

I believe that care delivery is ripe for reframing. Globally, the senior living sector is starting to reframe dementia, to enhance well-being and move beyond seeing people with dementia as “gone” or “someone who needs to be controlled,” to “someone who simply needs understanding.”

One of the questions I think our industry could ask more often is, what does it feel like to live in memory care?

For those of us who work in senior living, it’s easy to focus on falls, staffing challenges, clinical outcomes and safety metrics. Those things matter. But for the person living with dementia, the experience is much more personal. They are more likely to be thinking:

Can I sleep through the night (without someone checking on me every hour)?

Can I wake up on my own schedule?

Do the people around me understand why I’m anxious today?

Do I still have choices?

For me, those questions have always been personal. So when my father began needing more support in assisted living, I wanted exactly what any son would want: for him to be safe. But I also wanted him to remain himself. I didn’t want him living under constant surveillance or giving up his privacy simply because he needed care.

That experience became the foundation for Amba. We designed the platform without cameras because I never believed safety and dignity should compete. The goal was always understanding rather than surveillance.
It’s incredibly satisfying for the Amba team to see the outcomes from using our platform. Care teams now know what is happening with the resident. Residents are allowed to sleep according to their own biorhythms. The use of antipsychotic medications are greatly reduced or eliminated. Falls are preventable because care teams can predict better when they are likely to happen. The most exciting benefit? Memory care communities can use the platform to measure cause and effect. Example: What happens when Mr. Jones goes outside every day and gets plenty of fresh air and exercise? You can see empirically what happens by reviewing Mr. Jones’s Amba profile. Imagine the moves the care team can make to support him based on this.

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I’ve always followed a simple principle: treat people the way you would want to be treated.

One lesson stayed with me from my time at Imperial College London’s Department of Bioengineering: the best engineering begins by understanding people. Technology should adapt to humans, not force humans to adapt to technology.

So today I’m thinking about the future of memory care.

If I were living in memory care, would I want someone opening my door every hour while I slept?

Would I want cameras watching me throughout the day?

Would I want my independence limited simply because the people caring for me didn’t have enough information about how I was doing?

I suspect most of us would answer no.

We’d want to feel safe, certainly. But we’d also want privacy. We’d want to be understood. Indeed technology is contributing significantly to improving memory care, but I think the biggest thing it’s doing is giving care professionals the ability to have a deeper understanding of each person in their care. In other words, “good care” is going to boil down to “good understanding.”

I believe dementia care is due for a shift in perspective. Around the world, we’re beginning to move away from seeing people living with dementia as “gone” or as someone who needs to be controlled. Instead, we’re starting to recognize that they’re still very much themselves. They simply communicate differently and need us to understand them better.

One question I wish our industry asked more often is, what does it feel like to live in memory care?

Those of us who work in senior living naturally focus on falls, staffing, clinical outcomes and safety metrics. Those things matter. But for the person living there, the experience is much more personal.

Can I sleep through the night without someone checking on me every hour?

Can I wake up on my own schedule?

Do the people around me understand why I’m anxious today?

Do I still have choices?

Those are the questions I’d be asking.

For me, they’re also personal. When my father began needing more support in assisted living, I wanted exactly what any son would want: for him to be safe. But I also wanted him to remain himself. I never wanted his need for care to mean the loss of his privacy or dignity.

That experience became one of the foundations for Amba. We designed the platform without cameras because I never believed safety and dignity should be a trade-off. The goal was never surveillance. It was understanding.

One of the most rewarding parts of this journey has been seeing what happens when care teams have better information. Residents sleep according to their natural rhythms instead of being routinely disturbed. As resident bio patterns are better understood, communities have reported significant reductions (and sometimes the elimination) in the use of antipsychotic medications. Falls become more predictable because subtle changes can be identified before a crisis occurs.

Perhaps most exciting of all, care teams can begin measuring cause and effect in everyday life. What happens when Mr. Jones spends time outside each morning? Does better sleep improve his mood? Does more activity reduce agitation? Rather than relying on assumptions, caregivers can begin to see patterns through objective data and make better-informed decisions.

To me, that’s where technology is at its best. Not replacing human judgment, but giving compassionate caregivers a clearer understanding of the people they’re supporting.

Because when we understand people better, care becomes more personal.

And that’s something every one of us would want for the people we love.