Aussie model tells: ‘I’m dreaming of the next Olympics after a brain tumour left me learning to walk again'

My name is Amy Pejkovic, I’m 23-years-old and a professional high jumper and model. I’m strong, healthy and dreaming of competing at the next Olympic Games in Tokyo.

Looking at me, you would never guess that just three years ago, I was learning to walk again after battling a brain tumour.

The signs first became obvious in September 2011. I felt dizzy, unbalanced, and had constant headspins. Then I began suffering from frequent, stabbing headaches. The sensation was akin to someone stabbing me in the back of the head repeatedly, then slowly dragging the blade forward towards my forehead.

The athletics season had just commenced and I was fit, strong and in great form. I was hoping to qualify for the World Junior Championships in Spain, and also dreaming of the Olympic Games in London.

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I had high hopes, but when it came to my first jump of the season, nothing went right. I performed poorly, well below my expectations. I had no excuses and didn’t understand why I’d stumbled.

The day after my 20th birthday, I finally went to the hospital. The nurse recommended MRI and CT scans – something I’d never done before. We waited 30 minutes before a nurse entered the room. In a hushed tone, she advised it was bad news. Scans had detected the presence of a brain tumour.

I lay there. Defeated.

My body went into shock. My initial thoughts were, “This can’t be real. This has to be a bad dream. This can’t be happening.”

The nurse showed me the scanned images of my brain, the gaping black maw in the centre clearly evident. The tumour was the size of a baseball. I began to cry. I asked whether this was a death sentence. What was the prognosis? No one answered. I felt I’d been dealt the most unfair hand of all, an unnatural injustice. I was too young, too inexperienced, I had unfinished business, things to achieve, places to go. I couldn’t die.

The next few months would contain some of my most cherished memories and heart-wrenching decisions, forever alter me as a person and permanently shift my perspective on the value of life.

I had to have surgery as soon as possible – any delay would have made the tumour life-threatening. Before my surgery, I was incredibly anxious and scared, but I had to stay positive. I wasn’t going to let this defeat me. I uttered my final goodbyes to mum, dad and my boyfriend, telling them how much I loved them.

The day after the operation, I lay in immense pain. A nurse came in and spoke to me in a gentle voice, saying that I was being taken down to have an MRI scan to check my brain, the swelling and the resulting trauma.

All I remember is feeling the bed vibrate as I was being wheeled through hallways, the sounds and the feeling of going over the uneven entry to the elevators, the beeps of the machines. Every small movement made my head throb.

Around the third day post-surgery, I was sitting upright in bed and talking to people, and was able to nibble at food. But every time I ate, it would come straight back up and my head would throb in pain. I felt weak and the nurses would have to come in and inject anti-vomiting medication and painkillers. Every time I was injected, I could feel the fluid pumping through my veins and my arm would go numb.

A couple days later, after the drain and the staples had come out and I was progressing well, my doctor told me that I could leave. I cannot even explain how excited I was to be able to go home, sit in my house with my things, with my family.

Walking out the sliding doors, I was overwhelmed with joy. It was all over. I could start my life again. The smell of fresh air, the sound of the birds, having the sunshine bright in my eyes thrilled me. The feeling of the grass between my toes bought a tear to my eye. This was the beginning of a new chapter of my life. I knew it was not going to be easy, but I was given a second chance at life.

The journey also taught me the importance of family and friendship – the value and preciousness of life. You need to treasure each single second, because you really don’t know when your time is up.

These days, I’m feeling strong. I’m pursuing my modelling career in Australia and have dreams of making it to the next Olympic Games in Tokyo.

Not everyone has been as lucky as me – two of the friends that supported me so much when I was in hospital went through brain cancer themselves, and passed away.

They are part of the reason I’m supporting Daffodil Day this year – so that Cancer Council can continue funding live-saving research, prevention programs, support services and advocacy. I encourage everyone to support Daffodil Day on the 26 of August by buying and wearing a pin – in support of someone you know.

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