I visited £100k per week clinic and £2k scan revealed I needed this 40 | UK | News

Masseuse Joanne provided a revitalizing one-hour treatment; my private chef Konstantina rustles duck on a bed of nourishing beetroot, lemon and parsley; and soon my chauffeur Edin, who has driven two million miles for heads of state and diplomats, will bring the Bentley for my £250 spa evening at the Dolder Grand, one of the most luxurious spas in the world and frequently voted the best in Switzerland.

Welcome to the world of the super rich; A lifestyle I was invited to share for 72 hours as a guest of the £100,000-a-week Paracelsus Recovery clinic in Zurich.

This treatment facility in Switzerland is the ultimate international de-stress/detox for nobles, celebrities, heads of state, stressed-out CEOs and, increasingly, the legendary “sons of the founder” – the children of billionaire families whose fathers made it really big and who, as a result, grew up with every luxury imaginable, as well as every temptation and gold cards to fund those vices. is the place.

“Imagine growing up incredibly wealthy with everything you were given, but growing up in an environment where your parents were largely absent,” explains Jan Gerber, the 44-year-old founder of Paracelsus Recovery.

“Finding a sense of purpose can be a very serious challenge, and addiction can become a very serious problem. We call this the ‘Turnover syndrome,’ and it can lead to a hedonistic treadmill where more is never enough.”

Up to three clients can be treated at a time in this private and highly confidential facility. Their schedules are carefully coordinated to ensure that they never meet during their stay, which can last from two weeks to six months, but the average is six weeks.

“If word gets out that a CEO is being subjected to blanket treatment here, it could instantly wipe millions off their company’s share price,” Jan explains.

“The majority of guests experience mental health crises, either because they realize they have hit rock bottom or because their company’s board of directors – or their parents – insists they attend.”

Some guidance even takes place in the middle of the flight. When a mental health crisis occurred in the air, private jets were directed to Zurich Airport and the VIP service there. Never ‘patients’, clients are supported by up to 60 staff and each stay in one of the clinic’s three open-plan apartments, located on a large lakeside block with dreamy views over Lake Zurich.

One of these residences, which also houses the grand piano, will be my home for the next three days; It’s a luxurious 1,800-square-foot space, the size of an average four-bedroom house, and a 30-second walk from the neighboring clinic.

A week before arrival, I have to fill out a detailed survey about my preferences, which includes how firm or soft I like my mattress and pillow, my preferred room temperature, and even my room scent preference. It is clear that this will be a difficult journalistic task.

12 altar candles, collected from the airport in a £300,000 Bentley Flying Spur, herald my arrival in a candelabra on the floor. I find lavish handmade floral arrangements the size of fire hydrants and every beauty aid known to man. Bed linen is changed daily. For the scion of royalty or the son of a founder, all these charming details could not be more than reassuringly familiar – and that’s the idea. Jan emphasizes that for the majority of the clinic’s clients, this is a decline in the world in general.

“It’s basic for them, but it reflects the luxury they’re used to, and that’s what’s important. There’s no stress of trying to adjust to a different standard of living.”

“So they feel comfortable, which ensures that the treatment starts immediately and is effective,” he explains, describing how he meticulously handles every detail of their living arrangements. He leaves treatment plans to the world’s leading clinicians he employs, including those who advise governments on health-related issues.

One in two of the clinic’s clients are dealing with addiction issues, choosing to come from the United States, where community 12-step addiction programs like Alcoholics Anonymous would be nothing more than “traumatizing” for this demographic, to Switzerland, a destination long trusted for its confidential approach to private matters.

The chief psychiatrist of the clinic, Dr. “Due to their rare background, these guests are not used to opening up in a group setting,” says Thilo Beck.

“But behind their success and status, they need what we all desire: love and recognition. For many of our clients, this is just validation that their feelings are good and what they need is meaningful. Many people have never had that.”

As my maid, Cornelia Zimmermann, showed me around, it turned out that it was actually a two-room apartment. When real guests are in the house, a live-in therapist will be permanently present. “If you need to, you can wake them up at 3 a.m. and have them watch a movie with you,” he explains.

However, the live-in consultant also holds the keys to the apartment, rescuing guests from the temptations of Zurich, including the casinos. And after treatment is completed, it is quite common for them to return home with their clients to help them reintegrate into their normal lives for a while. Interestingly, Dr. D., who trained at the Swiss psychiatric hospital where pioneering psychiatrist Carl Jung worked. In addition to his duties caring for the homeless, Beck was invited by Jan to work at the clinic.

He says there are “huge similarities” in the emotional struggles faced by the super-rich and the disenfranchised poor, so he has deep compassion for both. “They are isolated at opposite ends of the spectrum, but there is a surprising overlap in the issues they face,” he says. “Both groups feel judged and ostracized, feeling like they don’t have a natural place in the world.”

The extremely likeable Jan, who has a non-therapeutic role, is the son of a psychiatrist and a nurse clinician.

Growing up, his parents had a friend who needed individual help in both disciplines and was invited to his childhood home for a time. This experience, and the effectiveness of the personalized treatment it enabled, gave Jan the seeds of his business idea, which he calls “pragmatic humanism.”

So how does it find its customers and encourage interaction, given the high fees charged? His answer reveals everything about why the service exists. “These super-rich families all have a family manager, and we are in contact with those offices,” he says simply.

It is usually the family manager who notices a problem and alerts parents to the need to take action. “Parents often don’t intervene, so they rely on information from family offices.”

The business model may be niche, but demand is growing. Nearly 500 clients have attended the clinic since it was founded in 2012, and although urgent referrals can often be seen at short notice, the clinic is generally nearly fully occupied.

As for me, my three-day treatment focuses on a midlife wellbeing assessment, an MOT for the human body that involves a battery of physical tests including a 3D ECG to reveal my biological age. It is a longevity and prosperity package that the clinic also offers to those who invest in their future health. I get the final results a month after returning home. Epigenetic tests of my blood, a £2,000 service the clinic provided to an American laboratory, revealed that my biological age, based on DNA testing, revealed that I was a full decade younger than my actual age.

But the most useful information I gained was that while I was in Switzerland and hooked up to diagnostic equipment 24 hours a day, I discovered that despite drinking copious amounts of tea every day, I was dehydrated and my kidneys were permanently irritated by the tannin in my favorite PG Tips, which affects water intake at a cellular level.

I’m in my mid-50s so it’s okay now, but I’m sure this is a window into my future. To counteract the risk factors, I am given a pack of zero-sugar, vitamin-enriched hydration tablets called Waterdrops, 40p each and available on Amazon, and I switch from too much tea to lasting health.

A month has passed and I’m now drinking up to two liters of Water Drop-infused water every day – and far fewer cups of tea. After all, when a £100,000-a-week clinic gives you an early warning signal that will cost you less than £10 a week, you’d be crazy not to take their advice, right?