A year ago, this month, Kavin Swan, 65, an executive with HOK, an architecture, engineering and urban planning firm, was living his normal, busy life. He traveled extensively to cities like Seattle, Reno, Atlanta and Houston, meeting with airport executives, overseeing projects and attending crowded conferences.
The virus was spreading globally, but Swan wasn’t overly concerned. This was around the time former President Donald Trump insisted his administration had “tremendous control” over the disease. Even though there were 100,000 confirmed coronavirus cases in the U.S. at the time, Trump insisted there was no need to shut the country down, predicting churches would be packed by Easter Sunday.
“Just tell the people the truth, man!” Swan said, referring to Trump’s comments last year. “There I was going to conferences with a thousand people, shaking folk’s hands. I probably would have never taken those trips if I had known better.”
If he had known better, Swan might have been able to avoid what happened when he returned home from a trip in late March 2020. First came the chills, later a fever, then consistent coughing. After hearing of his symptoms, Swan’s primary care physician at BJC strongly suggested he get himself to the emergency room. He did. The doctor’s suspicions were confirmed: Swan was diagnosed with COVID-19.
Quarantined in a shuttered emergency room, surrounded by practitioners wearing what Swan described as “space suits,” he wondered if he’d ever see his wife or his grown daughter again.
“I was thinking: Do I have my affairs in order? Will everyone be alright? All kinds of stuff ran through my head while I lay there thinking, ‘This might be it.’”
While he was recuperating in April, Trump was still downplaying the severity of the virus and recommending bizarre therapies, such as injecting ultraviolet light or disinfectants inside the body. The news was too much for Swan.
“I had to stop watching after a while. I’d got so worked up, so emotional. This disease is so dangerous, and it was all handled so poorly. Honestly, I’m a little angry about that,” he said.
Swan likened the virus to a stealth invader.
“It’s a sneaky mean disease. It’s almost like it has a brain. It moves around very quickly to different parts of the body like it knows your weak areas,” Swan explained. “Once you get your fever under control then it moves to another part of your body, particularly at night when you go to sleep. If my wife hadn’t woken me up to take my temperature or put ice on my head…I probably wouldn’t be here today.”
The advice from his attending physician, who also had COVID last year, was helpful. The attendee told Swan to stay vigilant and not let the disease beat him. He was advised to sleep on his stomach to keep his lungs clear, keep moving, walk around the house and sanitize everything. Swan describes himself as “a pretty good athlete” who jogs, swims, bicycles, and golfs.
He kept pushing himself into recovery.
“By the end of April, I could walk a mile or so without losing my breath. I was back!” Swan may have been back physically, but there was emotional damage. People who’ve contracted the disease can be reinfected. Doctors say the immune system’s memory is like our own – it remembers some infections but can forget others. Swan recalled how he grappled with his fears of reinfection.
“It keeps you up at night…the fact that I could have died. You have a lot of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) up until you get some assurance, which is the vaccine.”
Swan was shocked when his wife shared social media stories about people refusing to wear face masks or saying they were not going to take the vaccine when it became available. These sentiments were particularly disturbing coming from Black people.
“When you look at the death toll (from COVID-19) it’s us, we’re at risk,” Swan said with frustration.
His daughter, a child psychologist, suggested the best way for Swan to tackle his feelings of COVID-related PTSD was to talk publicly and honestly about his experience. Referring to himself as a “top-down/bottom-up kinda guy,” Swan reached out to Richard J. Liekweg, president and chief executive officer of BJC HealthCare, and asked what he could do to help. Liekweg put Swan in touch with his marketing team. They arranged media events for him to share his story and encourage others, namely African Americans, to take the pandemic seriously, focus on prevention and get vaccinated.
Swan recently received the vaccine. He’s been volunteering at BJC HealthCare’s COVID-19 vaccination clinic at Christian Hospital. He’s doing all he can to defeat the “sneaky, mean disease” that almost took his life. Surviving, Swan confessed, has changed his outlook on life.
“Coming out of this, I’m very present about my life. I’ve become a better listener, I’m a lot humbler, more prayerful. My job was pretty stressful. I was running so fast and doing so much. Now I’ve slowed down. I enjoy the moment, you know?”
It’s been a year since Swan’s bout with COVID-19. More than 500,000 Americans have succumbed to the disease since then. Swan said he’s “one of the lucky ones.”
“I got a break, a second chance. I’m a firm believer in that old phrase:‘To whom much is given, much is required.’ I’ve been given a second chance at life, so, call it what you will: a calling, a responsibility, whatever. I just think if I can help somebody understand how serious this thing is, I’m going to do that.”
Sylvester Brown Jr. is The St. Louis American’s inaugural Deaconess Fellow.
