Show must go on for cancer patient in play about disease
Thursday, July 09, 1998
By L.A. Johnson, Post-Gazette Staff Writer
Edwin Owens is a master thespian.
Edwin Owens waits in his doctor's office for a checkup yesterday. (Lake Fong, Post-Gazette)
For eight shows a week, twice on Saturdays and Sundays, he is a whirling dervish of energy as the character Abraham Yahuda in the British farce "Hysteria" at the Pittsburgh Public Theater. His character is a confidant, physician and friend to the cancer-stricken Sigmund Freud character in Terry Johnson's play set in World War II London.
His spirited portrayal -- which includes the physical comedy typical of a farce, such as hopping up and down, and running up and down stairs -- belies his own private battle.
Doctors diagnosed Owens' rectal cancer in November 1997 and removed the tumor in March.
After surgery, he underwent radiation and week-long chemotherapy treatments every four weeks. When he felt better, he auditioned for "Hysteria," and landed the role.
Then he had to make a decision. His New York doctor told him he could stay in New York, feel awful most of the time and do nothing, or go to Pittsburgh, feel awful most of the time, but do something he loves. He decided to do the show.
His wife, Jane, was concerned about his show-must-go-on attitude. But after careful planning she went from thinking, "Are you crazy?" to "'How can I help?"' he says.
Since May 29, Owens has undergone weekly radiation therapy and 24-hour chemotherapy at Allegheny General Hospital. His costume concealed the machine that infused the chemotherapy drug 5-FU into his arm round-the-clock until that phase of his treatment ended Monday.
And it still covers his colostomy bag.
He's a man being treated for cancer while playing a doctor treating a man with cancer. It's not quite art imitating life, but more art juxtaposing life. Owens admits it's both ironic and poignant, especially during the scene where he examines the ailing Freud, who is losing a battle with oral cancer. His hands travel down Freud's face, feel under his neck, then under his armpits, to check his lymph nodes.
"I know how to do that because that's been done to me," Owens, 56, says.
He didn't seek the role because of his own illness, but says he feels a special connection with the actor playing Freud, Jack Axelrod, in those scenes that echo his own life.
Owens, a Chicago native who studied theater for two years at Carnegie Mellon University, last performed in Pittsburgh 10 years ago in the Public's production of "The Normal Heart."
Like a lot of people, he ignored the early symptoms, which included rectal bleeding and diarrhea, thinking it was just a stomach problem. A steady diet of antacids stopped the symptoms for a time, but they returned with full force a few months later. He was diagnosed shortly thereafter.
He told the show's director, Eddie Gilbert, about his treatment early on, but initially kept it from the cast.
"He advised us that he might get tired," says Gilbert, who also is the theater's artistic director. "Whether or not that's true, he certainly didn't inflict that on me or anybody else. He gave 110 percent all the way ... I was very impressed."
He didn't want to distract from the work but eventually had to tell them.
"The first time I became aware of it, I grabbed his arm and it felt like there was something mechanical. It was the pump in his arm. I thought I had broken something," Axelrod says.
Shortly after that, Owens told the cast about his illness and they have been supportive.
"Edwin told us what was involved and made it seem so unimportant," Axelrod says. "He's made it not an issue."
Once shortly before curtain time, the port in his arm was clogged, causing the infusion machine to beep. A home-care nurse came to the theater and swiftly handled the minor crisis.
His AGH doctors and nurses have marveled at his endurance. Patients who undergo this treatment usually are sick and depressed after the third week.
Oncologist David Friedland chose the 24-hour infusion treatment because the side effects are less severe than other treatments.
"You've weathered the worst of it," he told Owens yesterday during a checkup at his North Side office. "From here, it will only get better."
Friedland credits Owens' determination for his success in handling his job along with his illness. Cancer patients sometimes can't work because they're distracted, thinking about their illness, more than incapacitated from the side effects, he says.
"It's most remarkable that you could concentrate," Friedland tells him.
And although Owens' colleagues haven't realized it, fatigue has been the worst side effect of the treatments.
"If I thought about what I had to do each day, I couldn't do it," he says. "I've just taken it moment to moment. Get morning coffee. Shower. Get to rehearsal and suddenly, you've gone through the whole day."
The show runs through July 19. After that, Owens returns to New York to resume treatment with his regular doctor. He wanted to remain low-key about his illness, but doctors and nurses here encouraged him to speak out.
"People can have chemo and still have their lives," Owens says. "It's important for people to know you don't have to give up."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When we were first "talking" via the internets, he was having a difficult time telling me about this. He finally remembered this story, and sent the link. I read it and returned an email to the effect of: Are you telling me you're a cancer survivor, or that you are married (or both)? His answer: Survivor. He'd been divorced for four or five years (couldn't remember).... I wrote back in lurid purple 40pt. script on a red background: "Good! Now I can fall in love with you!" His reponse: "Of course you can!" Truth is, it was too late: I was already in love with him, sight unseen.
