Mats Pettersson, a 62-year-old man from Östersund in central Sweden, was placed in a medically induced coma for 42 days after contracting COVID-19 in June 2020, according to Aftonbladet. He was not discharged from hospital until 7 October that year, roughly four months after he was admitted. Six years later he has returned to work, though his lung capacity sits at around 50 to 60 percent and he attends regular check-ups.
At the time of his illness, Sweden was in the early phase of the pandemic and much about the virus was still unknown. Aftonbladet reports that Mats and his colleagues took precautions to avoid infection, but one evening something changed. He described feeling strange after stepping out of the shower and being unable to get warm, putting on layers of clothing in an attempt to stop shivering.
His partner, Monika Pohjonen, sensed that something was wrong. When he came home they tried to keep their distance from one another — she slept downstairs while he went to bed in the upstairs bedroom. She checked on him several times a day, and Aftonbladet reports that his condition only deteriorated. Eventually she decided to drive him to the emergency department, where staff in full protective equipment received him.
Why it matters
Mats's case belongs to the first wave of the pandemic, when hospitals were still learning how to treat severe COVID-19 and families had almost no way of being present with patients who were fighting for their lives. Aftonbladet's account captures both sides of that separation: the patient drifting in and out of consciousness with no clear line between the intensive care unit and his own dreams, and the relative at home handling a household, dogs and a business while waiting for a daily phone call.
It also illustrates what recovery from severe COVID-19 can look like years later. Mats is not the person he was before the illness, but he is alive, working and, by his own account, aware of how differently things could have ended.
A daily phone call, and a pulse that rose
Mats was seriously ill with COVID-19 and was admitted to intensive care, where he needed to be sedated and treated with a ventilator. According to Aftonbladet, doctors called Monika every day to update her on his condition. Her first question each time was whether he was still alive — the only thing she said she could think about.
While he was in intensive care, there was also a house, dogs and Mats's company to look after. A property in Greece suddenly had to be sold, along with a car hood that Mats had ordered from the United States.
His body did not cooperate either. Aftonbladet reports that he suffered a punctured lung and blood poisoning during his time in intensive care.
On one occasion, when his prospects looked poor, staff held a phone to Mats's ear so Monika could speak to him. She told Aftonbladet that his pulse rose in response, which she took as a sign that he could hear her even while sedated.
Nightmares and hallucinations are common during deep sedation, though the reasons they occur are not fully understood. Mats had recurring nightmares that appeared to be influenced by whether people were in the room with him. In one, the ceiling pressed down on him and he had to keep finding ways to hold it back; whenever he heard someone speaking nearby, the ceiling lifted again.
For Mats, the boundary between what happened in the intensive care unit and what unfolded inside his head became hard to draw. He described lying there trying to move and being unable to, with no muscle left. At one point he questioned whether a life like that was worth living at all.
Sunlight, a taste of beer and a stubborn recovery
Then came a day when Mats was taken outside. Aftonbladet reports that his bed, the ventilator and all the associated equipment were wheeled through the corridors and out to the car park. He still could not swallow and was receiving nutrition through a tube, but he was given a taste of beer.
A doctor gave him something to hold on to: if he trained, his muscles could come back. He might never be exactly as he was before the illness, but he would be able to walk and eat again.
For Mats, who had previously done physically demanding work with concrete and injections, the exercises felt almost absurd. But Aftonbladet describes him as stubborn. He progressed from sitting up, to standing, to walking with a rollator. He recalled with a laugh being scolded by staff for going to the toilet on his own at a point when he could barely stand unaided.
He finally came home on 7 October, nearly four months after being admitted and after 42 days under sedation.
Six years on, Mats is working again, but his body sets limits. According to Aftonbladet, his lung capacity is roughly 50 to 60 percent and he goes for regular check-ups.
Both Mats and Monika still find it affecting to talk about what happened. Monika said she never knew whether he would survive and often wondered whether he would become one more number in the statistics. Mats put it another way: had he died, he would have been one of many, but because he lived, it counts as a miracle. He also thinks about everything he would have missed, including becoming a grandfather.
What to watch: how patients who spent long periods sedated with COVID-19 fare over the coming years, and whether cases like Mats's continue to shape how hospitals involve families in intensive care.
