In 2023, Matthew Stewart set out on an unforgettable adventure to climb Half Dome in Yosemite, much like any other 28-year-old in top physical condition. Little did he realize that this journey would lead to a dramatic rescue due to an undiagnosed tumor. A year later, he returned to tackle that climb again. Here’s his remarkable story, shared in his own words:
As someone who grew up on the East Coast, I had been making annual trips to the West since 2020 to hike and backpack with my buddy Tim. In June 2023, at 28 years old, we decided to explore Yosemite and invited our friend Sam, who was studying to be a paramedic alongside Tim. Initially, we missed the chance to secure permits for Half Dome, but fortune smiled upon us when a last-minute cancellation allowed us to go.
I felt a bit fatigued but was brimming with excitement as I led the way on the trail. We camped at Little Yosemite Campground to prepare for our early morning ascent of Half Dome.
However, when I woke up the next day, I was hit with severe dizziness and weakness. This wasn’t entirely surprising—I had been grappling with headaches and other symptoms for several months, suspecting Lyme disease and had already scheduled a CAT scan for after our trip.
But my condition worsened unexpectedly. The dizziness quickly escalated into the most excruciating migraine I had ever encountered. My friends were incredibly supportive, keeping a close eye on me and administering medication.
I began to vomit and lost control of my left arm and leg, slipping in and out of consciousness. After performing a stroke test, my friends had no choice but to call for a helicopter rescue. Thankfully, we were in a spot that was accessible for air support along our route.
When I awoke in the ICU, I initially felt alright. However, the following morning, the surgeon delivered shocking news: “Mr. Stewart, we’ve found a mass at the back of your brain. It appears to be cancerous, and we recommend surgery for tomorrow.”
I was taken aback—here I was, young and active, far from my loved ones. The medical team expressed concerns about flying, fearing that altitude might worsen the tumor. (The high elevation in Yosemite likely intensified my symptoms compared to sea level.)
For such a critical operation, I insisted on being treated at Johns Hopkins Hospital—an esteemed center for neurological care located just a few hours from home. After a thorough evaluation, the doctors cleared me to fly.
In disbelief, I took it one day at a time, telling myself that many cancers are manageable these days. The specialists at Johns Hopkins suspected glioblastoma, an aggressive brain cancer with a grim prognosis. They recommended surgery to remove the tumors, fully aware that they could reappear. While there was a slim possibility it could be a less severe form, the overall outlook was not promising.
The surgery was set for two weeks later, aiming to remove as much of the tumor as possible and possibly implant a chemotherapy wafer in the space left behind.
This was a challenging time. All my hopes and dreams suddenly felt constrained by the harsh reality of my diagnosis. Chemotherapy and radiation took a toll on my body, but my faith instilled an indescribable sense of calm. I concentrated on getting through the surgery, trying not to dwell on what lay ahead.
On July 5th, 2023, I underwent a four-hour surgery that ultimately extended to six hours. When I regained consciousness, the doctors shared the incredible news that they had successfully removed the entire tumor, which was a significant victory. There was no need for the chemotherapy wafer. Although the tumor’s location initially caused vision issues, I was ecstatic about the positive outcome. While the possibility of cancer lingered, it was not the aggressive glioblastoma.
A week and a half later, I received more unexpected news from the surgeon: “You won’t need any further treatment at this time.” Although the exact nature of the tumor was still unclear, it was believed to be a low-grade cancer.
Over a month after the surgery, I discovered that it was a rare non-cancerous tumor that had likely been growing since my middle school years. Its slow progression had gone unnoticed until the symptoms became apparent at high altitude.
I underwent a complete removal procedure to reduce the risk of recurrence and now have regular MRIs for monitoring. In case of a relapse, there are new medications available to manage and possibly eradicate this type of tumor.
The recovery journey was long and challenging. Simple activities like reading, using my phone, or cooking proved difficult at first. Adapting to the blind spot in my vision was tough, especially since I couldn’t drive for a while.
Two weeks post-surgery, I slowly began exercising again. I started with running, then moved to cycling, and eventually added light weight training. As I regained strength, I transitioned to strength training five to six days a week and ran about 15 miles weekly. I also engaged in hobbies like playing the guitar to help improve my vision.
Once I felt confident in my recovery, Tim, Sam, and I made plans to return to Yosemite. We secured permits for Half Dome and invited three more friends to join our adventure.
The author (left) with friends Tim (center) and Sam (right), celebrating their successful climb of Half Dome.
In September 2024, just over a year after our initial 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, now tumor-free, we were ready to conquer what had previously eluded us.
With the necessary gear, including secure gloves and clips, we set out early in the morning. The ascent up Half Dome was nerve-wracking for someone like me who isn’t particularly keen on heights. Nevertheless, I was determined not to let fear stop me.
We made it to the summit. The tranquility at the peak was unmatched, a moment to cherish our victory over adversity. Standing atop the mountain, I reflected on my blessings amid the challenges I faced and the hurdles I had overcome. Even with significant improvements in my vision, I still acknowledge the permanent blind spot. However, I’ve adapted and returned to my usual activities, including driving during daylight hours with some restrictions. During this transformative period, I met my now-fiancée. I am deeply grateful for the progress I’ve made, contrasting where I stand today with where I was just a year before.
Let this journey be a testament to resilience and the unyielding spirit to overcome challenges, no matter how daunting they may appear.
