Chest Pain? Trouble Breathing? Severe Bleeding?

A few months ago, an elderly relative of ours had a heart attack at home. He and his wife had recently come to the U.S. from India. Their children were out of town. When the emergency happened, his wife wasn't sure what to do — so she started calling relatives and friends, none of them nearby, none of them emergency professionals. By the time help arrived, it was too late. Paramedics later said he likely could have been saved if 911 had been called sooner.

It was the kind of loss that couldn't unhappen. But it could be prevented from happening to someone else. So the two of us — brothers, 16 and 13 — started asking why elders in our community don't always pick up the phone and dial 911 when seconds matter.

What we found

It wasn't one big problem. It was a stack of smaller ones, all pushing in the same direction: hesitation.

• "It's not the same in South Asian senior communities." That's how Aarav put it to the Seattle Times. For most Americans, dialing 911 is automatic. For elders who came from places where the system works differently, it isn't — the first instinct is to call family, not a stranger on the line.
• Language. Even when people know to call, many hesitate because they aren't confident a dispatcher will understand them. 911 actually offers free interpreters in 140+ languages, but most of the elders we talked to had no idea.
• Immigration fears. Recent crackdowns have made this worse. People worry that calling 911 means being asked about documentation, or putting a family member at risk. Emergency medical services don't ask about immigration status and aren't obligated to report it — and Seattle is a sanctuary city — but almost no one we spoke to knew that.
• "It might not be serious enough." Without a clear, in-language list of warning signs — chest pain, slurred speech, severe allergic reaction — people second-guess themselves until it's too late.

What we built

We started with the three languages we speak: English, Hindi, and Gujarati. We sat with our parents and grandmother to work out the wording, because not every term translates cleanly. Then we started carrying the flyers everywhere we went and putting them up at temples, libraries, and grocery stores across the Eastside.

Since then we've added Marathi, Tamil, and Telugu, and we're working with local Hindu temples, community centers, and Sewa International to begin running in-person workshops for elders. We're also working with King County to expand the reach. The goal is statewide — and eventually, every language an immigrant family in Washington might speak.

None of this brings back the relative we lost. But it's our answer to the question we couldn't shake afterwards: what if she had known?

Follow our work on Instagram @justacallawayofficial — we share new flyers, distribution updates, and stories from the families we meet.