Millicurie to Kilocurie

Yes, and it creates real problems. If a patient who received therapeutic I-131 (30–200 mCi) dies within days, the body can trigger radiation alarms at funeral homes and crematoria. Cremation is the bigger concern — burning the body aerosolises the isotope, contaminating the crematorium and potentially exposing workers. Most radiation safety programs require a waiting period before cremation, or direct burial with notification to the funeral director. In 2019, an Arizona crematorium unknowingly cremated a patient with residual lutetium-177, contaminating the facility. Hospitals are supposed to flag these cases, but the system is imperfect.

The radiopharmacist draws the Tc-99m solution into a syringe, places it in a dose calibrator (a pressurized argon ionisation chamber), and reads the activity in mCi or MBq. Because the isotope is decaying constantly — Tc-99m loses half its activity every 6 hours — the calibrator reading must be decay-corrected to the planned injection time. If the scan is at 2pm and the dose is drawn at 10am, the pharmacist dispenses more than the prescribed 20 mCi, knowing it will decay to exactly 20 mCi by injection. Timing is everything.

The Tc-99m bone scan, with about 20–25 mCi (740–925 MBq) injected intravenously. Technetium-99m accumulates in areas of high bone turnover — fractures, infections, metastases — and emits 140 keV gamma rays that a gamma camera images. The scan itself takes 2–3 hours (allowing time for the tracer to distribute), and the patient's radioactivity drops to negligible levels within 24–48 hours. Over 30 million Tc-99m procedures are performed worldwide each year, making it by far the most-used medical radioisotope.

Technically yes, but radiation detectors at airports, borders, and government buildings may alarm for days after certain scans. A patient who received 10 mCi of I-131 can trigger a portal monitor for up to 3 months. Most nuclear medicine departments provide a wallet card explaining the procedure, isotope, and date — TSA and customs agents are trained to recognize these. The actual radiation risk to fellow passengers is negligible; the issue is entirely about security system sensitivity, not safety.

Hyperthyroidism treatment aims to kill just enough thyroid tissue to normalize hormone production — typically 5–15 mCi (185–555 MBq) of I-131. Thyroid cancer ablation aims to destroy every remaining thyroid cell after surgery and kill any metastases — that takes 30–200 mCi (1.1–7.4 GBq). The higher doses require inpatient isolation and more aggressive radiation safety precautions. Some oncologists are exploring whether lower ablation doses (30 mCi) work as well as high ones (100+ mCi) for low-risk cancers — the evidence is surprisingly close.

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.