Our story
It began with one person.
hǣlan was built first for one woman living through cancer treatment and recovery — and for the people who wanted to help without overwhelming her.
Through treatment, and the journey back to you.
An app by your side, every part of the journey — a private daily companion for treatment days, rest days, and the long return to your body, your rhythms, and yourself.
Join the beta
TestFlight
Coming soon on
Google Play
Public beta — limited places.
Built for people living through and beyond cancer.
Private by design. Yours to control.
Care that bends with real life.
Help from the people you invite.
The quiet work
Treatment has an end date.
Recovery often doesn’t.
hǣlan walks with you from the first treatment day — the infusion mornings, the days after, the quiet weeks in between. And it stays for the part no one talks about: when appointments thin out, support grows quieter, and the work of returning to your body, your routines, and your sense of self is only beginning.
One thing at a time
The app brings forward what may be useful now. Everything else can wait.
Progress without a scoreboard
No streaks, missed days, scores, or pressure to perform recovery.
Care that bends with real life
Treatment changes. Energy changes. Plans change. hǣlan adjusts without judgment.
hǣlan is made for the whole of it.
The word
hǣlan · Old English
to heal, to restore, to make whole
The line above the ǣ is called a macron. We think of it as a horizon, a breath, a still line over a moving life.
heal
health
whole
The root of all three.
A different kind of recovery companion
Gentle guidance for the days that follow.
hǣlan helps you keep the practical and personal details of your recovery in one private place — so you can focus on what matters most: healing in your own way.
hǣlan for iPhone
Public beta · TestFlight
Today’s check-in
Today I feel quiet, and what I need is a little room.
The quilt
Tap a patch to see its day.
The jar of good moments
“Coffee tasted good this morning.”
The rhythm
Treatment — Tuesday
Water
6 glasses
Sips count.
Comfort meds · as needed
Anti-nausea, today?
Didn’t need it
Needed it — it helped
A day with hǣlan
Held, one moment at a time.
Morning
A quiet hello and one useful invitation.
During the day
Water, nourishment, medication, and notes are kept without targets or judgment.
Before an appointment
Questions ride along so they are not forgotten.
On a hard day
A kept moment returns from the jar.
At night
The day is held as it was. Enough for now.
Your circle
Care, without losing your space.
hǣlan belongs first to the person receiving care. The people you invite can see only what you choose.
Can see
A quiet glimpse of how the day is going.
Can help
Appointments, questions, and practical support.
Always your choice
Access can be changed or removed at any time.
Your words, notes, photos, reflections, and kept moments remain yours.
Private by design.
Personal by nature.
Your record belongs to you.
Photos stay on your phone.
Sharing is invitation-only.
There are no ads, trackers, or third-party analytics.
Built using HIPAA-eligible AWS services with a signed business associate agreement.
There is an old word
for what you are doing.
Hǣlan.
Old English.
To heal. To restore. To make whole.
It is where heal comes from.
And health.
And whole.
The line above the ǣ is called a macron.
It asks you to hold the sound a little longer.
We think of it as a horizon.
A breath.
A still line over a moving life.
No one tells you this part:
recovery begins when treatment ends.
The appointments thin out.
The people go home.
And you are left with the quiet work
of coming back to your own body,
your own mornings,
your own name.
You don’t have to do it loudly.
You don’t have to do it alone.
You don’t have to be good at it.
One meal. One walk. One kept moment.
Small things, honestly kept,
become proof that you are still here —
and still you.
Healing is not becoming someone new.
Healing is remembering who you are.
The mornings you laughed.
The food you loved.
The person you were before the waiting rooms
is not gone.
Only resting.
So hold the sound a little longer.
Breathe under the long line of the horizon.
Come home to yourself.