As the curved door closes and an AI-generated voice intones, “Initiating… three, two, one,” I find myself standing in what looks like a Star Trek transporter.
With my arms outstretched like two teapot handles, dressed only in a pair of oversized beige trousers and preparing to have my body photographed tens of thousands of times and heat-mapped, it’s easy to wonder if this really is the future of medicine, the disruptor that could help the ailing NHS and transform the health and life expectancy of our nation and others.
Hjalmar Nilsonne, a Swedish serial entrepreneur, engineer and CEO and co-founder of Neko Health, certainly believes so.
Jane Fryer, arms outstretched like two teapot handles, preparing to have her body photographed tens of thousands of times and have a heat map made of her body.
His business partner is Daniel Ek, better known as the billionaire co-founder of Spotify, who, after having made his fortune revolutionizing the global music industry, now wants to do the same with the healthcare industry.
Earlier this month, after years of research, design, modelling, testing and overcoming hurdles, they launched Neko Health (Neko means cat in Japanese) in Marylebone, central London, offering what they call “a preventative health check for your future self”.
It’s a 60-minute instant medical assessment service that costs £299 and uses AI technology and real doctors. And it’s a little bit different.
Unlike most conventional medical services, it is not designed for people who are actually sick. It is about detecting the early symptoms of a chronic disease (heart failure, diabetes, stroke) before the symptoms appear and knock us down into the dead end of middle age.
And also to ensure that we not only live longer, but better.
“We want your years between 60 and 80 to be really bright and constructive,” says Hjalmar, who is 38 but looks 20 years younger.
Longevity is already a booming industry for the super-rich who have the time and money to take care of their health.
Fasting, microdosing, red light therapy beds, hyperbaric oxygen chambers, body mapping, vitamin infusions. Musk, Bezos and the Silicon Valley gang have surely tried it all. Anything to gain a few more months and years.
Now everyone has started getting screened – “just in case” – for potential future problems, and a whole new industry is emerging around that.
Jane during one of the many tests, which revealed that her strength is below average and that she should cut back on alcohol.
Prenuvo, backed by former Google executive Eric Schmidt and supermodel Cindy Crawford, offers hour-long MRI sessions for around £2,000 and uses AI-powered software to scan for abnormalities.
Other companies, such as Ezra and SimonMed, offer similar “peace of mind” services. Even Bupa is launching a “Netflix-style GP subscription” for £16.66 a month.
Last year, Kim Kardashian, lounging in a grey dressing gown and slippers after a £2,999 Prenuvo MRI scan to “give her peace of mind”, took to Instagram to declare it had “saved her life”.
(The last time she put medical equipment to the test was when she got an X-ray to prove her butt was real and not fake. Yes, really.)
But it’s not just the rich and famous. Generation Z is also obsessed with its health. It rarely drinks, uses digital tools (Apple watches and Fitbits) to monitor itself and is increasingly willing to invest in private medical check-ups.
So perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that when Neko Health launched its first AI-powered health screening site in Stockholm last year, all available sessions sold out within a day.
There is currently a waiting list of more than 22,000 people, and this is in Sweden, which has a generally good, free and accessible health service.
When spots became available here in London earlier this month, they were fully booked within hours, although Hjalmar promises more appointments will become available.
Fortunately, they made room for me and I immediately realized that it was unlike any other medical center I had ever visited before.
From the outside, the Neko Health Centre is sleek and understated. Inside, it’s a cross between an underground spa, the starship Enterprise and a luxury psychiatric hospital. (Designer Franquibel Lima – who worked on the New York Apple Store for Foster + Partners – apparently aimed to convey a “sense of calm and quiet confidence.”)
That’s probably why all the walls, doors, desks, ceilings, and some of the floors are drenched in a faint blue-green that makes me feel oddly sleepy.
The staff continues the theme with what suspiciously look like Star Trek uniforms.
“The owners wanted us to match the decor,” the receptionist tells me, holding a tablet (there’s no paper or pens here, just shiny surfaces). “Look, even our sneakers are cute, aren’t they? And so comfortable.”
And everywhere you look you hear the tinkling of spa music on an endless loop and many more aisles filled with soup that look exactly the same.
But for now, back to the conveyor/scanner, where I’m bathed in bright lights and the warmth of the sun and have high-resolution photographs taken of every inch of my body, a three-dimensional mapping of my shape and a thermal mapping of my body’s temperature profile. All in just 20 seconds.
Next, I am led in a gown and 3D-printed blue clogs to a padded bed for eye health, strength, heart, blood pressure and blood tests.
All quite nice and oddly relaxing, with the spa music and decor and staff somehow making me feel like I’m a billionaire in a sci-fi movie.
And that’s exactly what Hjalmar wanted, coming from a large family of disillusioned doctors who wanted to be able to get on with their work instead of treating a host of preventable chronic diseases.
He wanted to do something to change things, to make “a positive contribution to the world.”
All quite nice and strangely relaxing, with the spa music and the decor and staff somehow making me feel like I’m a billionaire in a sci-fi movie, writes Jane (pictured having her arm mapped).
So when Daniel Ek got in touch out of the blue, told him he had always been obsessed with health, wanted something to spend his billions on, and proposed starting a business, Hjalmar didn’t hesitate. “He’s the most famous man in Sweden. He’s not in this to make more money. He wants to build something affordable with a really big positive impact,” he says.
The results obtained so far are very interesting. Of the 2,700 people examined in Sweden so far, 10 percent were suffering from a serious, undiagnosed illness for which they had no symptoms.
One in 100 suffered from a life-threatening illness that required urgent medical attention.
A man apparently had a major cardiovascular abnormality that would have killed him within eight months if it had not shown up on examination.
To me, a non-doctor, if you can afford it, it seems to make sense. Get ahead of your enemies and shoot the snipers.
But the medical community isn’t so sure, with some experts saying all this scanning leads to false positives and unnecessary diagnostic tests that clog up the system it’s trying to free itself from.
Perhaps it did not help the cause that, a few years ago, Ek described the way doctors treated patients as “almost witchcraft.”
And when I ask Hjalmar if any of the doctors in his medical family have been on the machine, he is rather vague for a moment.
But back to me and my results. It turns out that they come back very quickly. Blood tests are done in exactly 15 minutes.
And so I met Dr Adam Wright, a handsome GP in a small beige booth with a huge glowing screen on the wall.
“It’s a very nice place. We want it to be nice, a mix of fun, spa, science fiction and medicine,” says Dr Adam, who tells me he has recently reduced his hours at the NHS.
“It was too much, so it’s really nice to split up my week and come here. It’s great.”
And with that, he taps the screen and, wow, a huge 3D avatar of me in sagging pants pops up for both of us to stare at. It’s not flattering at all, but Dr. Adam has clearly seen worse and he compliments me on my incredible heart health – some of the best he’s ever seen!
Then he tells me some surprises.
For example, my cholesterol levels, which are pretty good (even after all that summer rosé and holiday bowls of chips), and my incredibly low inflammation levels (which are often an early warning of future problems).
And my resting heart rate was only 46, which could indicate that I’m either an athlete or I’m nearly dead. I’m neither, although it was all so strangely relaxing that, like many other people, I almost fell asleep during the EKG.
But of course not everything is perfect.
My strength is below average. I should cut back on alcohol. And, thanks to negligent and poor sunscreen management during my youth in the Hawaiian tropics, the cameras have photographed 22,700 individual marks on my body (at least double the average so far), and the AI has selected five for closer examination.
I’ve been told that a small, nasty spot on my back will be examined by a dermatologist tomorrow, just as a precaution.
It is an unusual test in an extraordinary setting. It is hardly the equivalent of the free medical check-up that the National Health Service offers to middle-aged women.
There are no breast exams, no cytology, no lung capacity tests. Instead, it is an extra for those who have the time, money and desire and perhaps also fancy seeing themselves in all their naked blue avatar glory.
But… if you can afford it and somehow manage to get an appointment, it makes you feel surprisingly good: on top of things, organized, and taking care of your future health.
And for once, really, wonderfully rich.
