Latest news with #PJP
Daily Mail
6 days ago
- Health
- Daily Mail
Terrifying rise of fungal infection sweeping US
The killer fungi that led to the tragic death of Hollywood stylist Jesus Guerrero is exploding among people who previously have not been at risk. Guerrero, known for working with stars like Kylie Jenner and Jennifer Lopez, died at a Los Angeles hospital in February. The medical examiner confirmed the celebrity stylist died from two deadly fungal infections: Pneumocystis jirovecii pneumonia (PJP) and Cryptococcus neoformans, most likely a complication of AIDS, which was listed as a secondary cause of death. It is not known how he became infected. People with HIV or AIDS historically represent the largest population affected by the fungi, because of their weakened immune systems. However, cases are now alarmingly rising among broader populations, including non HIV or AIDS-immunosuppressed patients. North-American cryptococcal cases have jumped 62 percent since 2014, while UK Pneumocystis infections doubled. Aside from those battling HIV, these infections can more easily strike other people with weakened immunity, including patients undergoing cancer treatments, those who are on immunosuppressants after an organ transplant - and even those with a Covid infection. 'These individuals might not be on doctors' radar for infections like PJP, so they often aren't given preventive treatments the way HIV-positive patients are,' Dr Ehsan Ali, an internal medicine specialist. 'That delay in recognition and care can be life-threatening. The killer fungi that led to the death of Hollywood stylist Jesus Guerrero is exploding among people who previously have not been at risk Guerro, pictured with one of his former clients Kylie Jenner, succumbed to Pneumocystis jirovecii pneumonia (PJP) and Cryptococcus neoformans, two fungal infections which are on the rise He likely developed the infections due to being HIV positive as AIDS was listed a secondary cause of death, however doctors are warning the infections are reaching other immunocompromised patients who don't have HIV or AIDS 'The growing number of non-HIV patients developing these infections is a sign that we need to rethink how we monitor and protect people with suppressed immune systems. 'Just because someone doesn't have HIV doesn't mean they're not at risk, and catching these infections early can be the difference between recovery and tragedy.' Pneumocystis jirovecii is a silent airborne killer whose spores float undetected. It attacks the lungs with deadly inflammation that drowns victims in fluid and deprives the body of oxygen, leading to multi-organ failure. Cryptococcus, meanwhile, hides in soil and bird droppings, invading lungs before migrating to the brain to cause fatal meningitis. There it unleashes a double onslaught of meningitis and encephalitis - brain swelling - often with fatal consequences. A trio of telltale signs of PJP – a dry cough (95 percent of patients), trouble breathing, and a low-grade fever (around 80 percent) – is a key indication of the fungal infection in the lungs. Since its discovery in the 1980s, PJP has been considered a disease solely of the immunocompromised, particularly in people suffering from AIDS. While typically believed to be a condition associated with HIV/AIDS, Dr Ali said patients undergoing chemotherapy, recovering from organ transplants, or taking medications like steroids or immunosuppressants for conditions like lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, or Crohn's disease, represent a growing patient population. In 2005, three-year-old Eliza Jane [center] died from pneumocystis pneumonia caused by the fungus Pneumocystis jirovecii Eliza Jane began vomiting and within hours, she collapsed. Tests revealed a severe case of pneumonia that had advanced past the ability to treat. Eliza Jane died the next day. In 2005, three-year-old Eliza Jane Scovill, who later tested HIV-positive, died from a pneumonia caused by Pneumocystis jirovecii. Eliza Jane was born to a mother with HIV who denied the virus caused AIDS and so did not test her daughter for the condition. This which severely weakened the little girl's immune system and left her susceptible to infection. The youngster had been suffering from common cold symptoms and collapsed on May 15, 2005. She died the next day and an autopsy revealed she'd had pneumonia for weeks. But PJP has been shown to be even deadlier in non-HIV-positive patients with weakened immune systems. Global death rates in people with weakened immune systems but without HIV range from 30 to 60 percent, compared to 10 to 20 percent of HIV patients. Meanwhile, the global mortality rate of Cryptococcus neoformans infection is high in people with HIV – roughly 41 to 61 percent — and the early warning signs can be easy to miss. Doctors say it typically starts out with headaches, fever, cough, and shortness of breath. As it spreads, it can cause stiff neck, nausea, confusion, and sensitivity to light — signs the infection has reached the brain and triggered life-threatening meningitis. Cryptococcus hides in soil and bird droppings, invading lungs before migrating to the brain to cause fatal meningitis Your browser does not support iframes. Around 19 percent of AIDS-related deaths are due to meningitis caused by Cryptococcus neoformans. Scientists are still trying to pinpoint the exact cause of the rising rates of fungal infections. The number of people with weakened immune systems is on the rise as rates of chronic illness and disease increase. Cancer rates and people being treated for the disease are steadily ticking up, translating to a growing population of immunocompromised people. Climate change also has a major role to play - with rising global temperatures potentially forcing fungi to grow in places it previously hasn't or evolve to become more adaptable and resistant to treatments. Robin May, a professor of infectious diseases at the University of Birmingham in England, said: 'Since we have far fewer drugs against fungi than we do against bacteria, the antifungal arsenal is very limited, and resistance to only one or two drugs can render a fungus essentially untreatable.'
Yahoo
04-03-2025
- Yahoo
Will There Be Anything Left of Me When I Leave This New Mexico Prison?
(Photo by Getty Images) Next to me, on his bunk, I sense my cellie straighten his body. I can't read his face, but his frantic murmurs suggest night terrors. I came to prison at age 15, after being tried as an adult for first-degree murder. Nearly 30 years later, I still wonder if I'll survive the terrors of incarceration and all they've done to me. Chief among these consequences? My diminished capacity to humanize and be responsive to the feelings of others. In prison, we don't talk about how the rain beating on our grated windows makes us sad. Or how the fresh scent after a cloudburst compels us to run outdoors and smell the air. And we don't talk about love — how it inundates us but crawls into the hidden chambers of our souls. This story was published in partnership with Prison Journalism Project, a national nonprofit organization that trains incarcerated writers in journalism and publishes their work. Sign up for PJP's newsletter, follow them on Instagram and Bluesky, or connect with them on LinkedIn. When I arrived in prison as a boy, stranglings and murders and other acts of violence were commonplace at Central New Mexico Correctional Facility in Los Lunas, just south of Albuquerque. During my first month locked up, I remember my neighbor getting stabbed and the sound — pop! — of the shank cracking open his skin. That moment triggers a cascade of other violent memories. More stabbings. People being stomped out and carried away from the yard screaming, covered in blood. People running. People unconscious. People on stretchers. A sampling of public data tells part of the story. In 2018, for example, there were 39 assaults by prisoners in New Mexico correctional facilities that resulted in serious injury to their peers or to staff, according to the New Mexico Legislative Finance Committee. That figure marked a 10-year high. Meanwhile, Source New Mexico has documented 'a long and ongoing history of abuse' by guards against prisoners at facilities across the state, including Northeast New Mexico Correctional Facility in Clayton, where I currently reside. It is horrible to see another human being cry out, 'Why?' as they're being victimized, and to have no one answering. In my memories, all I hear are taunts and vicious chants. And just like that, the victim is gone. It's over, never happened. Assault amnesia sets in. It makes me ashamed of my own humanity. During the night, I dream about the times my former partner and I spent together. I remember how we tried to find hope in a hopeless situation. She drove hundreds of miles across the New Mexican desert just so we could stare into each other's eyes. But, then as now, prison constantly assaults my capacity to love and to hope. When my physical safety is under threat, no room remains for emotional vulnerability. When I am surrounded by loud, raucous energy ricocheting off the concrete walls, it is hard to think of life outside at all. My former partner and I held on for six arduous years while I was locked up. In the end, the system won, by waiting us out. But still I cherish those moments. In our conversations and correspondence, we yearned for and envisioned a life we might someday reach. In conjuring those images of what-could-be, we built a shelter on pillars of pain, a refuge for when the isolation became too strong to bear. I desperately need to visit those images every night. Sometimes I worry about the effects prison will have on my future relationships. I imagine having to explain the parts of me that the system has chiseled away, if not killed off entirely. I imagine being exposed as a sham of a person because of what I let the system make of me: an emotionally defective and despondent human being. There is nothing irrational about these fears. I only did what self-preservation demanded of me in an environment of unspeakable brutality and the incessant belittling of life. And yet the cost is profound. Most days I cannot imagine seeing myself partake in any of the privileges that require human interaction — the kind of stuff that makes this thing called life worth living. Despite how impossible it feels to remain human, I still continue to reach. I hope. I keep my heart open to empathy, trying to resist the brutal onslaught. But still I wonder: Will there be anything left of me when I leave here?
