When I first mentioned, rather huffily, to my husband that The Times was sending me off to have a full-body check-up (an “Ultimate Preventicum Check-Up”, price £2,950), his eyes lit up. For while I loathe any kind of interaction with the medical profession, he is a passionate admirer. Being a hypochondriac, there is nothing he enjoys more than a barium meal and a quick internal investigation.

This test, then, which includes an MRI scan, ultrasound, ECG and exercise test, blood and urine analysis, a physical examination and consultations with a doctor and a radiologist, is his idea of heaven. I am lucky, he tells me as I sip hot water on the morning of my examination (you have to fast for the blood tests). I should be grateful.

I try to keep this in mind as the nurse draws blood, before leading me to a small side room for my ultrasound tests. Having had two children, I am familiar with this machine. Here, it is going to be used to scan the arteries in my neck, my liver and kidneys and my uterus and bladder. In the arterial scans they are searching for evidence of thickening of the arterial walls; elsewhere for any abnormalities.

There is no evidence of any problem, and so it’s on, then, to see the medical director, Dr Garry Savin. After a brief outline of the day’s itinerary, we proceed to my check-up.

This is exactly the same as all the check-ups I’ve ever had in the past, with an identical outcome: I need to lose a few kilos (I explain that we’ve just had half term, and as it rained throughout, I did rather more cake-baking that I ought to have done). Dr Savin seems unimpressed with my excuse so I ask him about my right knee (which hurts) and my lower back (which is agony).

He examines the knee in some detail and concludes that it is probably a “tracking” problem that could be corrected by physio-therapy, but that I should see a specialist. I ask if I can have an MRI scan of the lower back. Obviously this is cheeky of me, since I’m going off-piste, but really it’s the only serious medical concern I have and, you know: £2,950! He explains that the purpose of today’s MRI is to look at my brain, heart, veins and arteries: to scan the lower back would take too long.

Now it is time for the MRI. This is really quite scary at first. The staff, who are incredibly helpful, give me a peculiar pair of upside-down glasses to wear, which enable me to see out of the tube. My claustrophobia subsides a little and the scanning begins. It’s like being at a very loud prog-rock concert: thudding rhythmic noises fill my head-phones, drowning out Woman’s Hour. I am thoroughly relieved when it’s over.

Lunch in my room is chicken salad, orange juice and fruit salad. Then it’s on to the boring stuff: exercise test and ECG, lung function, hearing, eye pressure (to check for early signs of glaucoma: I decline this as I have it done regularly by my optician). And after that, it’s on to see Dr Kandyba for an analysis of my MRI scans.

He can find no evidence of any anomaly. He guides me through the internal landscape of my body, from brain to heart to ankles. It’s fascinating to see my heart beating, the muscle moving on the computer screen. The technology is truly impressive. He shows me some archive scans of people where problems were identified, and tells me how each ailment was treated, successfully and, crucially, early.

This is the key to Preventicum’s business: people’s fear of their own bodies, of the unknown threat that lurks within our own flesh and blood. Had they identified, say, a blockage in an artery or an aneurysm in my brain, it would have seemed like the best use of £2,950 ever. As it was, it seems like a lot of money to discover that I’m a bit fat, a fact I am acutely aware of. After inputting all my data into his computer, Dr Savin calculates that I have a 1 per cent chance of having a heart attack in the next 10 years. We never did find out what was wrong with my back; but the news about my healthy heart is enough to put a spring in my step.

Preventicum: 020-7605 6900 preventicum.co.uk