A woman checking her breast for the presence of concerning lumps.
Nancy Cappello was proactive. When she turned 36, she had a baseline mammogram, a standard medical recommendation in the late 1980s and early 1990s as a comparison tool for future screenings. At 40, Cappello started getting them annually.
Her breast surgeon estimated the cancer had been festering for four to five years under the radar of her annual mammograms.
Six weeks after her 11th-consecutive normal mammogram, she was diagnosed with Stage IIIc breast cancer.
A doctor felt a lump while doing a breast exam during her annual physical and a subsequent ultrasound detected cancer that had spread to 13 lymph nodes. That's when Cappello, then 51, learned she had dense breast tissue, making mammography less likely to detect tumors in her breasts.
She also discovered through her own research that she was among the 40 to 50 percent of women with dense breast tissue — almost half the female population — but medical protocol did not require physicians to inform women of their dense tissue status. If she had known, she said, she would have gotten an ultrasound every year in addition to a mammogram that could have detected the cancer much earlier. Cappello said her breast surgeon estimated the cancer had been festering for four to five years under the radar of her annual mammograms.
Although ultrasound as a cancer screening tool has been available for decades, technological advances are helping doctors find more invasive cancers in women with dense breasts, in turn giving women who know their tissue status the opportunity for earlier detection and treatment.
"We know that the gold standard for breast cancer screening is mammography, but in women with dense breast tissue, up to one third of breast cancers can be missed with this modality alone."
Dr. Georgia Giakoumis Spear, chief of the department of breast imaging at NorthShore University HealthSystem in suburban Chicago and assistant professor of radiology at the University of Chicago, has been a leader in developing standards for the use of new ultrasound technology. She is leading a study to develop more specific national guidelines around the use of Automated Whole Breast Tissue Ultrasound (ABUS), a non-invasive procedure in which sound waves are used to scan breast tissue while a patient lies on her back with her arm over her head.
Approved by the Food and Drug Administration in 2012, ABUS provides higher quality 3D images and faster delivery to provide more accurate results than past ultrasound technology. The scan does not involve radiation, and a practitioner can complete the process in 15 to 20 minutes, from patient preparation to image creation. NorthShore has been using ABUS since 2015, Dr. Spear said, and the technology can improve breast cancer detection in women with dense breasts by up to 55 percent.
"We know that the gold standard for breast cancer screening is mammography, but in women with dense breast tissue, up to one third of breast cancers can be missed with this modality alone," Spear says. "And when we supplement screening with ultrasound in this population of women, we have found a large number of cancers by ultrasound that are not visible on the mammogram."
Mammography should still be used as the first step for breast cancer detection, but if an initial mammogram shows that a patient has dense breast tissue, studies encourage discussion of additional screening with ultrasound.
On a mammogram, dense tissue appears white. So do cancerous masses, making them easy to miss.
A radiologist determines tissue density, according to the American College of Radiology's Breast Imaging Reporting and Data System (BI-RADS). "A" and "B" breast density categories designate ratios of mostly fatty, or non-dense tissues, while the "C" and "D" categories designate heterogeneously dense and extremely dense tissue, respectively. Such patients would be classified as having dense tissue. Younger women, women with lower levels of body fat and women undergoing hormone therapy are more likely to have C and D breast density.
On a mammogram, dense tissue appears white. So do cancerous masses, making them easy to miss. Fatty tissue, in comparison, appears black, making tumors easier to spot.
The FDA stated among its policy goals for 2018 that it's placing an improved focus on recognizing technological advances to help "ensure women get the most relevant, up-to-date information about their breast density, which is now recognized as a risk factor for breast cancer." An article in the March 2018 Journal of the American College of Radiology recommended supplemental screening for women with higher-than-average breast cancer risk, placing women with dense breast tissue in that category.
To be sure, some in the medical community are reluctant to push for ultrasounds, saying that a mammogram might be enough even if the woman has dense breast tissue. A patient is advised to discuss the option of ultrasound with her physician and they can decide from there.
Access to such information became political for Cappello after her diagnosis in 2004. She said that as she underwent six surgeries, a mastectomy, chemotherapy, radiation and hormone therapy, she asked doctors why they weren't required to inform women of their dense breast tissue status. Her dissatisfaction with their responses led to the formation of Are You Dense, Inc., an advocacy group aimed to inform women of their medical options while working to pass legislation mandating that women know their tissue status. Other legislation has focused on mandating insurance coverage for breast ultrasounds.
Nancy Cappello.
(Courtesy)
Cappello's work led Connecticut to become the first state to pass an information law in 2009, and 35 states now have similar requirements. Depending on the state, the law could mandate that certain language or information about breast density be included in the patient's mammogram results, or require physicians to tell women about dense tissue if their breast density falls in the BI-RADS categories C and D. Other states might require that patients be given general information about breast density and advice to discuss their options with a physician. (Note: There is a chart on Cappello's website that shows what laws exist – or don't – in each state.)
Through her site and social media, she's connected with other women who've lobbied for laws in their states, including Dr. Spear, who recently testified before legislative committees in Illinois as they considered companion bills. The Illinois legislation is expected to be signed into law this summer.
"There should be no excuses," Cappello says. "Women should have this information. There should be no concealing or hiding of her status."
Katalin Karikó, pictured, and Drew Weissman won the Nobel Prize for advances in mRNA research that led to the first Covid vaccines.
The work for which they garnered the illustrious award and its accompanying $1,000,000 cash windfall was completed about two decades ago, wrought through long hours in the lab over many arduous years. But humanity collectively benefited from its life-saving outcome three years ago, when both Moderna and Pfizer/BioNTech’s mRNA vaccines against COVID were found to be safe and highly effective at preventing severe disease. Billions of doses have since been given out to protect humans from the upstart viral scourge.
“I thought of going somewhere else, or doing something else,” said Katalin Karikó. “I also thought maybe I’m not good enough, not smart enough. I tried to imagine: Everything is here, and I just have to do better experiments.”
Unlocking the power of mRNA
Weissman and Karikó unlocked mRNA vaccines for the world back in the early 2000s when they made a key breakthrough. Messenger RNA molecules are essentially instructions for cells’ ribosomes to make specific proteins, so in the 1980s and 1990s, researchers started wondering if sneaking mRNA into the body could trigger cells to manufacture antibodies, enzymes, or growth agents for protecting against infection, treating disease, or repairing tissues. But there was a big problem: injecting this synthetic mRNA triggered a dangerous, inflammatory immune response resulting in the mRNA’s destruction.
While most other researchers chose not to tackle this perplexing problem to instead pursue more lucrative and publishable exploits, Karikó stuck with it. The choice sent her academic career into depressing doldrums. Nobody would fund her work, publications dried up, and after six years as an assistant professor at the University of Pennsylvania, Karikó got demoted. She was going backward.
“I thought of going somewhere else, or doing something else,” Karikó told Stat in 2020. “I also thought maybe I’m not good enough, not smart enough. I tried to imagine: Everything is here, and I just have to do better experiments.”
A tale of tenacity
Collaborating with Drew Weissman, a new professor at the University of Pennsylvania, in the late 1990s helped provide Karikó with the tenacity to continue. Weissman nurtured a goal of developing a vaccine against HIV-1, and saw mRNA as a potential way to do it.
“For the 20 years that we’ve worked together before anybody knew what RNA is, or cared, it was the two of us literally side by side at a bench working together,” Weissman said in an interview with Adam Smith of the Nobel Foundation.
In 2005, the duo made their 2023 Nobel Prize-winning breakthrough, detailing it in a relatively small journal, Immunity. (Their paper was rejected by larger journals, including Science and Nature.) They figured out that chemically modifying the nucleoside bases that make up mRNA allowed the molecule to slip past the body’s immune defenses. Karikó and Weissman followed up that finding by creating mRNA that’s more efficiently translated within cells, greatly boosting protein production. In 2020, scientists at Moderna and BioNTech (where Karikó worked from 2013 to 2022) rushed to craft vaccines against COVID, putting their methods to life-saving use.
The future of vaccines
Buoyed by the resounding success of mRNA vaccines, scientists are now hurriedly researching ways to use mRNA medicine against other infectious diseases, cancer, and genetic disorders. The now ubiquitous efforts stand in stark contrast to Karikó and Weissman’s previously unheralded struggles years ago as they doggedly worked to realize a shared dream that so many others shied away from. Katalin Karikó and Drew Weissman were brave enough to walk a scientific path that very well could have ended in a dead end, and for that, they absolutely deserve their 2023 Nobel Prize.
This article originally appeared on Big Think, home of the brightest minds and biggest ideas of all time.
With conventional fuel cells as their model, researchers learned to use similar chemical reactions to make a fuel from microbes in pee.
Plus, urine contains water, phosphorus, potassium and nitrogen, the key ingredients plants need to grow and survive. Human urine could replace about 25 percent of current nitrogen and phosphorous fertilizers worldwide and could save water for gardens and crops. The average U.S. resident flushes a toilet bowl containing only pee and paper about six to seven times a day, which adds up to about 3,500 gallons of water down per year. Plus cows in the U.S. produce 231 gallons of the stuff each year.
Pee power
A conventional fuel cell uses chemical reactions to produce energy, as electrons move from one electrode to another to power a lightbulb or phone. Ioannis Ieropoulos, a professor and chair of Environmental Engineering at the University of Southampton in England, realized the same type of reaction could be used to make a fuel from microbes in pee.
Bacterial species like Shewanella oneidensis and Pseudomonas aeruginosa can consume carbon and other nutrients in urine and pop out electrons as a result of their digestion. In a microbial fuel cell, one electrode is covered in microbes, immersed in urine and kept away from oxygen. Another electrode is in contact with oxygen. When the microbes feed on nutrients, they produce the electrons that flow through the circuit from one electrod to another to combine with oxygen on the other side. As long as the microbes have fresh pee to chomp on, electrons keep flowing. And after the microbes are done with the pee, it can be used as fertilizer.
These microbes are easily found in wastewater treatment plants, ponds, lakes, rivers or soil. Keeping them alive is the easy part, says Ieropoulos. Once the cells start producing stable power, his group sequences the microbes and keeps using them.
Like many promising technologies, scaling these devices for mass consumption won’t be easy, says Kevin Orner, a civil engineering professor at West Virginia University. But it’s moving in the right direction. Ieropoulos’s device has shrunk from the size of about three packs of cards to a large glue stick. It looks and works much like a AAA battery and produce about the same power. By itself, the device can barely power a light bulb, but when stacked together, they can do much more—just like photovoltaic cells in solar panels. His lab has produced 1760 fuel cells stacked together, and with manufacturing support, there’s no theoretical ceiling, he says.
Although pure urine produces the most power, Ieropoulos’s devices also work with the mixed liquids of the wastewater treatment plants, so they can be retrofit into urban wastewater utilities.
This image shows how the pee-powered system works. Pee feeds bacteria in the stack of fuel cells (1), which give off electrons (2) stored in parallel cylindrical cells (3). These cells are connected to a voltage regulator (4), which smooths out the electrical signal to ensure consistent power to the LED strips lighting the toilet.
Courtesy Ioannis Ieropoulos
Key to the long-term success of any urine reclamation effort, says Orner, is avoiding what he calls “parachute engineering”—when well-meaning scientists solve a problem with novel tech and then abandon it. “The way around that is to have either the need come from the community or to have an organization in a community that is committed to seeing a project operate and maintained,” he says.
Success with urine reclamation also depends on the economy. “If energy prices are low, it may not make sense to recover energy,” says Orner. “But right now, fertilizer prices worldwide are generally pretty high, so it may make sense to recover fertilizer and nutrients.” There are obstacles, too, such as few incentives for builders to incorporate urine recycling into new construction. And any hiccups like leaks or waste seepage will cost builders money and reputation. Right now, Orner says, the risks are just too high.
Despite the challenges, Ieropoulos envisions a future in which urine is passed through microbial fuel cells at wastewater treatment plants, retrofitted septic tanks, and building basements, and is then delivered to businesses to use as agricultural fertilizers. Although pure urine produces the most power, Ieropoulos’s devices also work with the mixed liquids of the wastewater treatment plants, so they can be retrofitted into urban wastewater utilities where they can make electricity from the effluent. And unlike solar cells, which are a common target of theft in some areas, nobody wants to steal a bunch of pee.
When Ieropoulos’s team returned to wrap up their pilot project 18 months later, the school’s director begged them to leave the fuel cells in place—because they made a major difference in students’ lives. “We replaced it with a substantial photovoltaic panel,” says Ieropoulos, They couldn’t leave the units forever, he explained, because of intellectual property reasons—their funders worried about theft of both the technology and the idea. But the photovoltaic replacement could be stolen, too, leaving the girls in the dark.
The story repeated itself at another school, in Nairobi, Kenya, as well as in an informal settlement in Durban, South Africa. Each time, Ieropoulos vowed to return. Though the pandemic has delayed his promise, he is resolute about continuing his work—it is a moral and legal obligation. “We've made a commitment to ourselves and to the pupils,” he says. “That's why we need to go back.”
Urine as fertilizer
Modern day industrial systems perpetuate the broken cycle of nutrients. When plants grow, they use up nutrients the soil. We eat the plans and excrete some of the nutrients we pass them into rivers and oceans. As a result, farmers must keep fertilizing the fields while our waste keeps fertilizing the waterways, where the algae, overfertilized with nitrogen, phosphorous and other nutrients grows out of control, sucking up oxygen that other marine species need to live. Few global communities remain untouched by the related challenges this broken chain create: insufficient clean water, food, and energy, and too much human and animal waste.
The Rich Earth Institute in Vermont runs a community-wide urine nutrient recovery program, which collects urine from homes and businesses, transports it for processing, and then supplies it as fertilizer to local farms.
One solution to this broken cycle is reclaiming urine and returning it back to the land. The Rich Earth Institute in Vermont is one of several organizations around the world working to divert and save urine for agricultural use. “The urine produced by an adult in one day contains enough fertilizer to grow all the wheat in one loaf of bread,” states their website.
Notably, while urine is not entirely sterile, it tends to harbor fewer pathogens than feces. That’s largely because urine has less organic matter and therefore less food for pathogens to feed on, but also because the urinary tract and the bladder have built-in antimicrobial defenses that kill many germs. In fact, the Rich Earth Institute says it’s safe to put your own urine onto crops grown for home consumption. Nonetheless, you’ll want to dilute it first because pee usually has too much nitrogen and can cause “fertilizer burn” if applied straight without dilution. Other projects to turn urine into fertilizer are in progress in Niger, South Africa, Kenya, Ethiopia, Sweden, Switzerland, The Netherlands, Australia, and France.
Eleven years ago, the Institute started a program that collects urine from homes and businesses, transports it for processing, and then supplies it as fertilizer to local farms. By 2021, the program included 180 donors producing over 12,000 gallons of urine each year. This urine is helping to fertilize hay fields at four partnering farms. Orner, the West Virginia professor, sees it as a success story. “They've shown how you can do this right--implementing it at a community level scale."