Fisher's eyes on prize -- his family

Her eyes are his eyes.

On the bad days, when little Tatum Fisher can't stop crying and can't begin to understand, Derek Fisher's clear eyes cloud.

"Sometimes in the morning, I want to call Phil and tell him I just can't make the shoot-around, I just need to be home," he says. "But as one of this team's leaders, that's not something I can do."

On the worse days, every eight weeks, when Tatum is laid on a gurney and a tiny gas mask is placed over her face and she undergoes a cancer-evaluation procedure, Derek Fisher's clear eyes grow red.

"They let us stay in the room and hold her until she goes to sleep, but then they make us leave," he says. "It's always so hard to leave."

Her eyes are his eyes.

Last spring, in a whirlwind of events that captured the attention of a nation, a cancerous tumor was discovered in the left eye of Derek Fisher's infant daughter.

The story has departed the front page but become embedded in his life.

Quietly, typically, with neither fanfare nor complaint, he has spent the last year helping his 22-month-old child fight retinoblastoma while trying to help the Lakers fight for a championship.

The man known for his uncanny vision -- both on the court and in the locker room -- has exhausted himself trying to save his little girl's eye.

He has gone from practice floor to hospital room, from charter flight to computer web cam, from prayer to prayer, keeping one strong hand on his family while directing the Lakers with the other.

"Nothing can prepare you for a sick child, nothing," says his wife Candace.

Fisher shakes his head.

"Never been through a year like this," Fisher admits quietly. "Never."

You couldn't tell from his play. While Kobe Bryant has been the league MVP, Fisher has been the Lakers MVP, never missing a game or a loose ball or a chance to inspire.

"What he does for us, you don't see in a box score," assistant coach Frank Hamblen says. "In every way, he's a class act."

You also couldn't tell from his attitude. Until now, Fisher has refused to give detailed interviews about his personal situation for fear of attracting unnecessary sympathy.

"People everywhere have to deal with their troubles, whether it's medical or financial or whatever," he says. "I don't think my situation is anything special."

The only way you can tell anything is different is from Tatum herself.

As if she knows, she sometimes calls him, "Daddy-Daddy."