When a cut and blow dry works as well as any medicine

ThrOugh history, there’ve been some rather unusual things that doctors have been able to prescribe for patients.

People showing signs of anaemia used to be prescribed guinness, for example, and at the beginning of my training I twice prescribed a tot of whisky for patients to help them relax. I never thought that after six years at medical school I’d be writing ‘Famous grouse’ on someone’s drug chart.

sir sam etherington, a highly regarded gP, has talked about how, as a young doctor in London’s east end, he prescribed gardening to his patients rather than antidepressants. he’d taken over some scrubland near his surgery and patients helped transform it into an oasis instead of taking pills.

These days, so many of the problems I see boil down to loneliness — and I often wish I could prescribe friends for those patients. A cup of tea with someone who understands you can sort out a lot of problems in life.

This week, there was research suggesting doctors should be prescribing knitting. According to the study, knitting can lower blood pressure, reduce depression and slow dementia. Apparently, it’s as relaxing as yoga and can help tackle chronic pain.

I love the idea of us becoming a nation of knitters. And I like the idea there are solutions to medical problems that aren’t based on pills. As well as friends, I’ve often wanted to prescribe haircuts. The ritual of going to the hairdressers can, in itself, be very therapeutic.

grooming plays an important role in the lives of most gregarious primates, and we humans are no exception.

sitting in a hairdresser’s and getting things off your chest is pretty similar to sitting in front of me in an outpatients’ clinic and talking, except I’d be rather put out if you asked me for a cup of tea and a copy of good housekeeping magazine.

But it runs deeper than that. Not only is hair of social and cultural importance, but since becoming a doctor I’ve learned it can also be a good indicator of how we’re feeling. When people’s mental state begins to deteriorate, one of the first signs is that they stop doing their hair.

An old professor I used to work for would say that the time to worry about patients with depression is when they stop brushing or combing their hair.

As a junior doctor working in old age psychiatry, I remember going on a home visit to see Mrs Daniel. she’d been in a serious accident the previous year and her gP was worried that she was developing agoraphobia (a fear of leaving her house), as well as depression.

‘My world has fallen apart,’ she told me, as I sat in her back room drinking tea. There were pictures of her and her husband dotted around the room, but the photos of Mrs Daniel on the walls and the woman sitting in front of me couldn’t have been more different.

her eyes looked sunken, she’d lost weight and her once neatly coiffed silver hair was now matted and hung limply around her face. ‘I didn’t see the point in making the effort any longer,’ she said when I broached the subject. ‘And now I dare not go out looking like this. What would people think if they saw me in this state?’

It was a vicious cycle, and someone needed to intervene. Perhaps, as well as starting her on antidepressants, getting her hair done would boost her confidence.

Back on the ward, I discussed Mrs Daniel’s plight with some of the team. ‘ Ask Brendan,’ one of them suggested. he was an occupational therapist on another ward but used to be a hairdresser.

A few evenings later, he paid Mrs Daniel a visit, scissors in hand, and when I saw her a few weeks later, she was transformed.

‘he’s done such a good job, hasn’t he?’ she beamed. ‘I’ve been down the Irish club to show it off. he’s wasted in the Nhs.’ I thought the health service was

exactly where he was needed. sadly, I doubt the Nhs will see the value of a prescription for a cut and blow dry, even though I think it could save cash in the long run.