Kilocurie to Terabecquerel

In 1987, scrap metal scavengers in Goiânia, Brazil broke open an abandoned caesium-137 teletherapy source containing about 1,375 Ci (50.9 TBq). The glowing blue Cs-137 powder fascinated locals — they rubbed it on skin, gave it to children, and spread it across multiple homes. Four people died, 249 were contaminated, and the cleanup produced 3,500 m³ of radioactive waste. The incident became the textbook case for why sealed sources must be tracked and securely stored throughout their entire lifecycle, and why the IAEA created its Code of Conduct on the Safety and Security of Radioactive Sources.

Yes, multiple times. In Ciudad Juárez, Mexico (1983), a stolen Co-60 teletherapy source was sold as scrap and melted into rebar, contaminating 4,000 tonnes of steel and exposing thousands. In Samut Prakan, Thailand (2000), a junked Co-60 source killed three scrap workers who pried it open. In Yanango, Peru (1999), a welder pocketed an Ir-192 industrial radiography source and carried it in his pocket for hours — his leg was amputated. The IAEA documents over 30 serious radiation accidents involving orphaned or stolen sources since the 1960s, collectively killing dozens and injuring hundreds.

Cobalt-60 has a 5.27-year half-life, so a 500 kCi source drops to 250 kCi after five years and becomes too weak for industrial throughput after about 15–20 years. The spent source pencils are returned to the manufacturer (typically in Canada or Russia) for reprocessing or secure storage. Transport uses heavily shielded Type B casks certified to survive a 9-meter drop and 30-minute fire. The manufacturer often offers a swap program: deliver fresh sources and take back decayed ones in the same shipment, minimising the number of high-activity transports.

The Fukushima Daiichi disaster released an estimated 10–30 PBq (10,000–30,000 TBq) of caesium-137 directly into the Pacific Ocean between March and July 2011 — the largest single marine radioactive release in history. For comparison, the Sellafield reprocessing plant in the UK discharged about 40 PBq of Cs-137 into the Irish Sea over decades of operation (1952–2000). Soviet dumping of entire reactor compartments from nuclear submarines in the Arctic added further inventory. Despite these numbers, ocean dilution is vast: Pacific Cs-137 levels from Fukushima peaked at about 50 Bq/m³ near the plant and dropped below 2 Bq/m³ within a few hundred kilometers.

This is exactly why the IAEA, NRC, and national agencies track high-activity sources so aggressively. A kilocurie Cs-137 or Co-60 source dispersed by conventional explosives would contaminate a few city blocks — not causing acute radiation casualties (the blast itself is deadlier) but creating a costly, panic-inducing cleanup lasting months. The actual health risk to the public would be low, but the economic and psychological damage would be enormous. Post-9/11 programs like the US GTRI (now NNSA OSRP) have recovered or secured thousands of orphaned high-activity sources worldwide.

The total release from Chernobyl Unit 4 is estimated at 5,200 petabecquerels (5.2 × 10⁶ TBq), though figures vary by source and isotope accounting. Of that, about 1,760 TBq was iodine-131 and 85 TBq was caesium-137. For perspective, the entire global nuclear weapons testing era released roughly 2.6 × 10⁸ TBq — so Chernobyl was devastating but still a fraction of Cold War fallout. Fukushima released about 520 TBq of Cs-137, roughly one-sixth of Chernobyl.

To sterilise food, you need to deliver 1–10 kilograys of absorbed dose in minutes across conveyor belts of product. That requires an enormous photon flux, which only a multi-hundred-TBq cobalt-60 source can provide. A typical facility starts with 500–1,000 TBq and replenishes as the Co-60 decays (5.27-year half-life). The food never becomes radioactive — gamma photons do not induce radioactivity in stable atoms at these energies. Over 60 countries have approved food irradiation for spices, meat, and produce.

Nuclear medicine staff literally call it a "moly cow." A generator arrives with ~150 TBq of Mo-99 adsorbed onto an alumina column. Mo-99 decays (66-hour half-life) into Tc-99m, which is washed off the column with saline — "milking" the generator. Fresh Tc-99m accumulates between milkings, reaching peak yield about every 23 hours. A single generator supplies a hospital for about a week before the parent Mo-99 activity drops too low. It is one of the cleverest supply chains in medicine.

Fresh spent fuel is extraordinarily active — a single assembly registers in the petabecquerel range, dominated by short-lived fission products like I-131, Xe-133, and Ba-140. Within a year, activity drops by about 99% as these burn out. After 10 years it drops another 90%, leaving mainly Cs-137 and Sr-90 (both ~30-year half-lives). After 300 years those are gone too, and the remaining activity comes from transuranics like plutonium — far less active per gram but with half-lives of thousands to millions of years.

Permanently, no — radioactivity decays by definition. Practically, it depends on the isotopes deposited and the cleanup threshold. Chernobyl's exclusion zone still restricts habitation 40 years later because Cs-137 (30-year half-life) contaminated the soil at levels above 1,480 TBq/km² in the worst spots. Parts of Fukushima were decontaminated and reopened within years because the deposition was lower. The real question is not whether an area recovers, but whether society is willing to wait — or pay for aggressive decontamination.