‘She’s special to me, and she’s special in God’s eyes’

Mercedes Alvarez was a feisty 4-year-old when she was diagnosed with Wilm’s tumor, a cancer of the kidneys that affects only children. Two year s and three operations later, Mercedes and her father, Manny, are closer than ever. He couldn’t take her place when she went through 16 months of chemotherapy and lost all her hair, eyelashes and eyebrows, but he could be bald with her. So he shaved his head twice a week for more than a year until her hair began growing back. Alvarez was interviewed by Times Staff Writer G. Jeanette Avent and photographed with Mercedes by Vince Compagnone.

Mercedes is our only child. She’s energetic, feisty, everything a kid should be. She’s one of a kind. When she was diagnosed in 1988 with cancer, there was nothing to indicate she was sick except for fevers at night. We’d wrestle, and she was an active 4-year-old.

When we were first told what she had, I came down the stairs at Children’s Hospital and, on the third to the last step, I just stopped and sat down. For five minutes, I just let it go and cried, and that was it.

She had Wilm’s tumor, a cancer of the kidneys that affects only children. We really didn’t have to explain it to her. When the doctor told us, she heard what was going to be done, and she just looked at us as if to say, I know.

She had her right kidney removed and, a week after surgery, she was started on chemotherapy. Over a year and a half, she had three surgeries, 20 days of radiation, and 16 months of chemotherapy. Doctors went the whole 110 yards on her. She’s doing OK. But she had some tough times.

She’s 6 now, and it’s been close to two years that she has been without hair. Every time she had chemotherapy she would lose her hair. At first, I asked God a question everybody asks, “Why her? Why couldn’t it be me?”

She’s special to me, and she’s special in God’s eyes, but she’s like any other kid. So she had to go through it.

When she started going through chemo, I started thinking, she’s going to lose her hair. What can I do to help her? What can I do to make her feel good? I didn’t want her to be unable to go outside without a hot wig on her head, all itchy and scratchy.

So when she started chemo, I asked her if she wanted to cut my hair just like hers. She said, “Really daddy?” I took her in the bathroom and gave her the scissors and she just started cutting until she got tired. There were zig zags all over the place. So I took the razor blade and shaved the rest off. I would shave at least twice a week. The first week, I’d walk around and my head was like a white, shiny dome.

My wife’s dad shaved his hair, too. We kept him bald for about four months. I was bald for a little over a year. At work, I’d wear my bandanna with my hat over it.

I was gone from work for six weeks at a time, and when I came back without any hair, people started asking me, “Manny what’s the matter. Do you have cancer, do you have leukemia?” I would say: “no, worse. My daughter has it.”

Most people I would just tell I lost a bet. I didn’t want to attract attention to myself. I wanted to do it for her, not for people to say, “Manny what a good guy you are.”

But I told my family and my real good friends, and they liked the idea. It’s a little bit on my part for all she went through. If I could have done more, I would have.

I had been working in a bakery at a grocery store in Chula Vista, making tortillas. I was in charge of their big oven.

But I decided to move to Kearny Mesa to be closer to the hospital so I wouldn’t have to worry about the distance. I decided if anything happened, that was too far. I applied for a job at Children’s Hospital and just started moving up in the ranks. I started dishwashing, then became a grill cook, floor aide and now nursing assistant. I’m also going to school, trying to become a nurse. I’ve got my calling. A lot of people need help.

Mercedes is in remission now. She’s been OK, because she went through what she had to go through.

We can’t say alleluia because we don’t know. I could slip in the bathtub, break my neck, and I’m out of here; and I wasn’t even worried about myself, I was worried about her. I could cross the street and get hit by a car, and that’s it. But why worry?

We wake up in the morning and thank God. It’s a beautiful day.