Nine-One-One: True Crime Series
Three years.
That's how long Alex Janke survived after being diagnosed in the spring of 2019 with Stage 4 brain cancer, despite lifespan projections barely one third of that.
The 29-year-old cancer warrior" did a lot in those three years: baked sourdough bread, reconnected with family and friends, raised funds for brain cancer research, embraced simple truths about life most of us take for granted: be kind, don't give up.
And as he battled the same glioblastoma that killed Tragically Hip frontman Gord Downie, with the same neurosurgeon overseeing his care, he got to fulfil a modest but important dream: holding his infant niece, Sutton Grace Lucas, whose birth he'd been struggling to hold on for since his doctors told him in January that he had less than three months to live.
That didn't happen by fluke," points out Trella Luyben, who hired him as a chef at her now-defunct restaurant, Gilt, and who, like all Janke's friends and colleagues, became a surrogate family member.
He fought really hard and beat a lot of odds to stay alive that long."
When I talked to him in January, when it was clear the walls were closing in, Janke was as feisty as ever, making plans to be a groomsman at a friend's wedding, to accompany another to a Toronto restaurant, to bake more bread.
I have to say yes," he told me in his insistent, matter-of-fact way. There's not much time. I'm not going to start jumping out of airplanes, but my calendar is more full than it's ever been."
He sighed. You can't give up all hope or it affects everybody else."
That was Alex right there: putting others first, advocating for cancer medications denied him by OHIP that might help others, signing Do Not Resuscitate" forms so his family would have peace when the time came.
His cringe-making prognosis turned sadly prophetic and the valiant Kitchener chef affectionately known to friends as Chalex" passed away Tuesday with family at his side. But he didn't do so with the regrets of someone who let time slip away.
We feel very lucky that he lasted three years," notes his dad, Mark Janke, choking up frequently during our conversation. And that during those three years, he was still Alex'.
As he said, he wasn't going to let the thing beat him or dominate his life. He was going to live with dignity as much as possible. And he did."
He was a fighter, as anyone who knew him would attest, a stubborn Janke" - in his own words - who wore T-shirts with logos like FU Cancer" and NOT DEAD YET" and a cancer ribbon tattoo strategically located on his middle finger, with its defiant up yours" subtext.
It's powerful because it's the cancer ribbon and represents strength and his battle," notes his best friend Adrienne Strangways, who sports the same tattoo and describes Janke as the most selfless, authentic person, pushing others to be the most genuine and pure version of themselves."
But it also makes me laugh because it's on my middle finger and is ... well ... symbolic? It's how we truly feel toward cancer. Finding a laugh during the most challenging times in my life is what I'll always remember about Alex."
In the end, Janke's story is tragic, as when any young person succumbs to a life-threatening illness, but in a distinctly Alex" way, it's also unique and inspiring.
He touched a lot of people," says his dad, Mark. At the very end, one of the things he did was donate his brain and spinal cord to McMaster's Stem Cell and Cancer Research Institute and his other organs to the Trillium Gift of Life Network."
He pauses, overcome with emotion: Even in his death, he's still trying to give. He was a brave and strong warrior."
When you read the words used to describe Alex by people who knew him best - words like positivity" and courageous"- they can take on a certain bland predictability, the things one is expected to say when someone passes at a young age.
But this actually was Alex.
I think back to my first interview, three years ago, after he had passed out from a massive seizure while driving near Kitchener's Charles and Water Streets, undergone rigorous testing and emerged with his devastating, unexpected diagnosis.
When one of his friends alerted me about a cancer fundraiser he was a part of, I approached tentatively, unsure how to broach sensitive topics like disease and death and chemotherapy with someone I'd never met.
That lasted three seconds, until he confided, I get looked at like I'm made of glass. It drives me nuts. People give me big puppy dog eyes and go, Oh!' and I'm like I'm still here! I'm not dead yet!' "
He was like this with everyone, I was to learn: genuine, fearless, vulnerable. Always himself.
You don't think about how scary it is," he went on. I still have things I want to do! I haven't been to China. I plan on visiting Portland with my roommate and hopefully get to Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia next year."
The end goal, he told me, was to open his own restaurant, a little hole in the wall where people can just come, eat and have a good time."
It never happened. None of it. Circumstances intervened: the pandemic, cancer treatments.
Still, he made every moment count, fighting not for himself, but for those who came after.
I might not get cured and that's tough sh-t for me," he told me openly, without regret. But if I know I've helped somebody else down the road, then I've done my part."
As friends, family and the community at large mourn his passing in the days ahead, there can be no question about that.
In Alex's memory, his family is encouraging donations through the Sunnybrook Foundation to the Gord Downie Fund for Brain Cancer Research.
Joel Rubinoff is a Waterloo Region-based staff reporter and columnist for The Record. Reach him via email: jrubinoff@therecord.com