Michael Mosley remembered by Dr. Phil Hammond
I met Michael Mosley in 1995, when he asked me to audition to present a TV series he was making called Trust me, I’m a doctor. He wanted someone who wasn’t afraid to put his own profession aside and I seemed like a good fit for that. I immediately liked him, and we discovered we had a lot in common: raised abroad, the privilege of private school and Oxbridge and driven by escaping the fate of our fathers (mine died by suicide at 38, Mike is in his early seventies due to complications from diabetes). And we were both married to great GPs to keep us on track.
Michael was no longer a doctor and he needed someone who would still take the flak. I was in a medical double act called Struck Off and Die, with Tony Gardner, and we ridiculed doctors who preferred the glamor of the TV studio to the prospect of examining hemorrhoids in a chilly provincial operating room. But Michael was so enthusiastic and convincing. He knew I was too Private investigator medical correspondent, MD, and that I had broken the story of far too many babies dying after heart surgery in Bristol. If I presented his series, he promised that he would put the full weight of the BBC science unit behind the show and that I could expose countless other medical scandals. Doctors would hate me, but he would protect me, like a wise older brother. How could I refuse?
Michael was both exciting and exhausting to work with. He had an encyclopedic mind, very strong ideas about what would make a compelling story and no time for annoying political excuses. He paid meticulous attention to the science and we uncovered a huge series of horrific NHS scandals, which he called ‘bastard’ stories, alongside his true passion, which was spreading useful and actionable evidence to prevent people from getting sick in the first place become.
Small things added up made a big difference: getting up, standing on one leg, walking briskly, breathing slowly, taking a nap after lunch, green spaces, cold showers. We wrote a book together that combined scandals, science and self-help. We made five series in five years, won awards and celebrated with bad karaoke and daddy dancing, which Michael assured me was good for your health. But he always had his eye on the next project.
I knew my Mosley days were numbered when he got really excited about self-experimentation and asked me to have bowel testing done on camera to “demystify the process for patients.” It was our first big fight. I was too young to warrant bowel testing and I didn’t want millions of people to see my bowels. So Mike took up the challenge and stood in front of the camera.
He embraced the human guinea pig persona with characteristic vigor (intestinal cameras, tapeworms, snake venom, needles, ice baths), but I’m glad he rejected pubic lice. When he discovered he had type 2 diabetes in 2012, he began experimenting with intermittent fasting to see if he could lose weight and reverse it. He did. I told him that it wasn’t a solution for everyone and that fasting and calorie restriction could make the eating disorders worse. But his books became bestsellers and he toured the world, inspiring people from all backgrounds to change their behavior. Are Just one thing podcasts were listened to by millions and it was relaunched Trust me… without me. I was a little testy, but he gave the next generation of TV doctors a chance.
We kept in touch and he graciously stopped my fringe shows at the Edinburgh festival while I pretended to follow his cold shower advice. We once did squats together and both farted loudly on the downstroke. The resulting laughter was more challenging for the pelvic floor, but much better for our health.
Above all, Michael was a risk taker who sought the truth and served with the zeal of his missionary ancestors. We even made a film explaining why people take insane risks on holiday (your risk compass is going wrong). You have to love a doctor who can’t follow his own advice and self-experimentation all the way to the end. Crazy dogs and Englishmen. I miss him.