Swimming Beyond Cancer: How Peeka Traver Survived Cancer and Became a Swim Champ at 7

By Patten Traver, Peeka’s Dad

A child sick with the flu is enough to make even the strongest parent weak. A child with cancer is an entirely different realm. In the spring of 2011, we drove a very sick and pale 3-year-old through the gates of St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. Anemic and weak, Peeka could hardly hold her head up to see the pyramid across the flood-swollen Mississippi River. Just behind the pyramid stood St. Jude and hope.

You might not expect to find inspiration in a 3-year-old undergoing aggressive chemotherapy treatment, but you would be mistaken. For three years, Peeka endured hundreds of blood labs, thousands of doses of medicines, months away from home, and years away from what any but a few would consider a normal life. She inspired not only her family, but the many friends she met along the way, all of them fighting their own battles, not all of them successful.

Peeka showed her family and a community what could happen when everyone pulled together as a team. Her family rallied for support, and countless members of the community came to help. Regardless of how sick the drugs made Peeka feel, how much of her hair she lost, or how much of her face her surgical mask covered, Peeka held strong. She found her lost smile and never let it go.

Last December, at Peeka’s checkup, Dr. Ching-Hon Pui (rhymes with boy), the man in charge of Peeka’s medical team at St. Jude, stood at the computer work station in the exam room. He invented the treatment protocol that Peeka followed when she was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Having an individual of this caliber on a hospital staff is amazing. Having an individual of this caliber insist on personally treating patients is incredible. Being the director of the entire program and still working full time makes Dr. Pui sometimes a bit short on time, but never for the children. They love him.

Nurses and staff buzzed around in their usual state of near hysteria. As usual, Dr. Pui was in the middle of dealing with critical issues for a multitude of other patients, making sure kids got meds to his satisfaction, juggling meetings, saving the world. Peeka was about to give him a time out.

“Dr. Pui, close your eyes,” Peeka commanded, a huge smile on her face.

“Close my what?” Dr. Pui asked.

“Your eyes, close your eyes, just do it!” she directed again. This time he stopped everything and acquiesced. Peeka took a medallion out of her pocket, unwound the blue ribbon, and reached it over Dr. Pui’s head. The medal caught on his little button-of-a-Santa nose.

“Now, open your eyes,” Peeka said. “This is the medal I won at the championship swim meet. 50 meter free style. I had to beat a lot of kids to win that. I want you to have it.”

She beamed. Dr. Pui looked at the medal, and then at her. A rare, glowing smile lit his face. He examined his gift and the inscription on the back. An avid swimmer himself, his words to Peeka were clearly genuine.

“Peeka Traver. 50 meter free style. First Place. :51 seconds,” he read with pride. “Fifty-one seconds? That can’t be right. I can’t swim that fast!”

Still nose to nose with him, Peeka smiled and edged a little bit closer.

“Then that means I can beat you!” she bragged.

Peeka is 7 now, in second grade, and cancer free. She is also a champion swimmer, headed for the Junior Olympics. She’s a bit smaller than most 7-year-olds. Her body stopped growing for a bit when she was sick, but she seems to be catching up now.

Peeka started swimming with the Mountain Home Hurricanes just last summer, only five months after being declared cured. Going from three years in an isolation ward to swimming in a public pool with 70 others was one of many adjustments. Thirty-five pounds of body, suit, and goggles doesn’t make much of a splash when it dives in, but it does make for a heck of a commotion at the finish line when it comes in first place. Watching her team rally around her when she swam, and the slightly suppressed smile on her wet face when she finished the race and realized that she had won, was enough to put a tear in the sternest of spectators.

In her first season of competitive swimming, Peeka finished with enough wins to move on to state competition. State finals in Paragould went well. She qualified for the National Junior Olympics last fall in Des Moines. The Arkansas pools Peeka swam in are 25 yards long. When she jumped in the water for the first time in the 50-meter Olympic pool in Iowa, it seemed to swallow her.

One hundred and sixty-four feet is a long way to swim in one lap when you’re only 38 inches tall, but water is water. Peeka got over the shock of such an enormous pool with eight lanes and huge crowds of spectators. When the waves cleared, she walked out of the Olympic stadium with a silver medal hung proudly around her neck. She even bit it to make sure it was real.

It was an inspirational finish to an inspirational year—watching this little thing beat cancer and paddle her way to victory, both in the pool and in the hearts of all of us who love her. M! August/September 2015