Unfortunately, things deteriorated quickly. The dizziness escalated into a severe migraine, prompting my friends to care for me and administer medication.

I began to vomit and lost control over my left arm and leg, slipping in and out of consciousness. My friends performed a stroke test and ultimately decided to call for a helicopter rescue, thankful that we were in a location accessible to air support.

When I awoke in the ICU, I felt surprisingly okay at first. But the following morning, the surgeon delivered shocking news: “Mr. Stewart, we found a mass at the back of your brain. It seems to be cancerous, and we recommend surgery tomorrow.”

I was stunned—I was young, fit, and mindful of my health. The last place I wanted to be was far from my family, but the medical team warned that flying could worsen the tumor due to altitude. (The high elevation of Yosemite likely intensified my symptoms compared to sea level at home.)

For such a significant operation, I insisted on being treated at Johns Hopkins Hospital, a leading center for neurological care only a few hours from my home. After a thorough assessment, the doctors gave me the green light to fly.

Still in shock, I tried to take it one day at a time. I reminded myself that many cancers are manageable today. The specialists at Johns Hopkins suspected glioblastoma, a highly aggressive brain cancer with a poor prognosis. They recommended surgery to excise the tumors, fully aware that they could reappear. While there was a slim chance it could be a less aggressive type, the outlook was grim.

We scheduled the surgery for two weeks later. The aim was to remove as much of the tumor as possible and possibly insert a chemotherapy wafer in the remaining space.

This was a challenging time. All my dreams and aspirations suddenly felt constrained by the harsh reality of my diagnosis. Chemotherapy and radiation left me physically drained. Yet, my faith offered a profound sense of tranquility. I focused on getting through the surgery without fixating on the uncertainties of the future.

On July 5th, 2023, I underwent a four-hour surgery that extended to six. When I woke up, the doctors informed me that they had successfully removed the entire tumor, against all odds. The chemotherapy wafer was unnecessary. Although the tumor’s position caused initial vision issues, I was elated by the positive outcome. While the threat of cancer still loomed, it wasn’t the aggressive glioblastoma.

A week and a half later, my surgeon shared unexpected news: “You don’t need any further treatment right now.” Although the precise nature of the tumor remained unclear, it was believed to be low-grade cancer.

Over a month later, I discovered that it was a rare, non-cancerous tumor likely present since my middle school years. Its slow growth had gone unnoticed until the recent symptoms manifested at high altitude.

I underwent a gross removal procedure to reduce the chance of recurrence and now have regular MRIs for monitoring. If a relapse occurs, there are new medications available to manage and eliminate this type of tumor.

The road to recovery was tough and lengthy. Simple activities like reading, texting, or cooking became challenging at first. Adjusting to the blind spot in my vision was difficult, especially since I couldn’t drive initially.

Two weeks after the surgery, I gradually returned to exercising. I began with running, progressed to cycling, and finally added strength training with light weights. As my strength grew, I committed to strength training five to six days a week and ran 15 miles weekly. I even turned to hobbies like playing the guitar to help exercise my eyesight.

Once I felt confident in my recovery and readiness to move forward, Tim, Sam, and I decided to revisit Yosemite. We secured permits for Half Dome again and invited three more friends to join us.

The author (left) with friends Tim (center) and Sam (right) on their successful Half Dome climb.

In September 2024, a little over a year after our first attempt, I found myself back in Yosemite. It felt surreal to return to the same campground from which I had been airlifted. Reflecting on the past year and the journey ahead, we were finally ready to conquer what had previously escaped us.

Armed with the essential gear, including secure gloves and clips, we set out early. The ascent up Half Dome was nerve-wracking for someone like me who isn’t particularly fond of heights. Yet, I was resolved not to let fear stand in my way.

We reached the summit successfully. The tranquility at the peak was unmatched, a moment to relish our victory over adversity. Standing atop the mountain, I took a moment to count my blessings amid the challenges I faced and the hurdles I overcame. Although my vision has improved significantly, I still contend with a permanent blind spot. Nevertheless, I have adapted, resuming my regular activities, including driving during daylight hours with restrictions. During this transformative journey, I met my now-fiancée. I am deeply thankful for how far I’ve come, reflecting on the contrast between my state today and where I was just a year prior.