You couldn’t make it up, the singer states. At that moment readying for her first album release in eight years, deeply enamored with her recent boyfriend, and finally the mother of a toddler after struggling to conceive for ten years, on top of the world. Then in March she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
The artist, real name Jess Cornish, is renowned for speaking her mind. The record, her latest release, was supposed to be an transparent story, addressing every moment of pain she’d faced since she last worked on songs (endometriosis, miscarriage, broken romances, emotional abuse, suicidal thoughts) with typical candour. The initial release, the song No Secrets, was dropped in the spring. But by then there existed a huge secret. The illness. Then next release, the upbeat Living My Best Life, was released in late spring and the artist was giving interviews about how she was enjoying life to the fullest, while all the while coping with the disease. A month later she disclosed her condition, and in July she had a mastectomy.
She shoots me her best “Are you kidding?” expression. “I come out with a song called the track No Secrets. I’m giving every interview, and they ask, ‘Any updates?’ and I’m, like, ‘Uh, nothing really’” the singer has just had to postpone shows because she’s yet to undergo cosmetic procedures.
We’re at a photo studio in London. She is sporting a beige fake-leather jacket, blue jeans with elaborate white patches, beige footwear and big frames. Think biker chic meets vintage look. “It seems like I’m in the 70s and I should have a man with facial hair.” A biker reference, I say, recalling the picture. “I was nicknamed that in school!” She smiles. Cornish is fast-thinking, unfiltered and blunt. She says she has always been interested in humor and is aiming for her standup debut soon. “I love making people laugh. On stage I frequently joke about the crowd.”
Medical Challenges and Discovery
Cornish was getting ready for an slot at the ceremony when she found a lump. “I immediately went to get it examined, had an ultrasound, and they were, like, ‘It appears fine; your breasts are normal.’ And I was, like, ‘But I can feel it. I’ve got an achy arm and pins and needles in my hands whenever I rise.’ And they replied, ‘Well, let’s just do a biopsy?’ That was 28 March, the post-birthday.” It was a Friday. The specialist told her if it was bad news she’d reach out on the Monday. By then Cornish had persuaded herself it was nothing. The way she tells it, it was just bad timing to receive a diagnosis when she had so much on.
“We’re two weeks away from debuting the project after years away and no new music. And she contacted me and said, ‘Is six okay?’ And I thought, ‘It’s virtual, probably routine.’ So I join the call expecting it’s all going to be positive, and she informs me, ‘Please take a seat.’ The solemn tone? And she continues, ‘I’m so, so sorry but your reports have come back as high-grade cancer cells.’” What did you say? “I answered, ‘That’s unfortunate. What awful timing.’ My initial thought was, ‘I can’t die because my son needs me.’”
Some men find me challenging due to my self-awareness
She viewed the procedure scary and bizarre. “I dislike anesthesia. You’re escorted. During crises you are wheeled, but now I just strolled down with a hospital gown and my bum hanging out. You feel like you’re in an episode of Black Mirror.” But, Cornish says, she’s been lucky. Without chemo or radio, just the op. “It’s terrible, but you know what? I’m grateful it was caught soon. The surgery happened four months ago and my one side now looks like a odd shape.” She smiles again. “I got to keep the nipple, though.”
The subsequent surgery is for health and appearance. Her boobs, she observes, are now “uneven. They didn’t do an implant as small as my original. How rude! I reflected, no need to bully me, I’m already having a difficult experience. How offensive! Amusingly I said I’d not undergo augmentation because I’ve got obsessive tendencies, and I know they’d never be perfect. Illness changed that.”
A History of Health Challenges
She is accustomed to medical issues. She feels her perspective on the cancer has been so upbeat because she’s used to physical challenges. They have often coincided with peak moments, functioning as a wake-up call, or blow, to highlight not to be complacent. “Frankly, I feel life goes, ‘Things going well? Sit down.’ Since childhood, it has consistently accompanied achievements for me; a major or strange event has impacted my body.”
She recalls to her youth, already starting her career performing in the West End in Whistle Down the Wind (she was selected at the age of 9). That’s when she was diagnosed with the medical problem a syndrome, which can cause a tachycardia as well as lightheadedness and palpitations. “I attended rehearsals intermittently on an intravenous line, and going back into hospital at night.” She skips forward six years, and teenage Jess has joined the female band Soul Deep while studying at the performing arts school. “I signed my initial contract, and I had a stroke. Then when I was ready to debut in 2020 I had a collision and my larynx moved up and I couldn’t sing for a year.”
Hey, I say, wait, I can’t keep up. At just 17? She nods|agrees
