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Article: How I set off the subway radiation meter
I know some of you have seen this story, but I those who have not might be
interested. How many things can you find wrong in this story?
-- John
John Jacobus, MS
Certified Health Physicist
3050 Traymore Lane
Bowie, MD 20715-2024
E-mail: jenday1@email.msn.com (H)
How I set off the subway radiation meter
By Laura E. Chatfield
Published 1/28/2002 5:49 PM
WASHINGTON, Jan. 22 (UPI) -- I thought I had a tough morning, but little did
I know that I would soon be testing the safety of Washington's Metro system
-- and the state of my nerves.
Plopping down on a seat all to myself in an almost empty train, I opened the
Washington Post and settled down to my usual afternoon commute.
We stopped at Reagan National Airport, Crystal City and Pentagon City.
Somewhere in between, an annoying beeping began and gradually increased in
frequency. Engrossed in an article, I briefly wondered what that irritating
sound was.
As the beep moved closer to me, it also quickened, until I felt, more than
saw, a presence next to me. Looking up, I was startled by a policeman
dressed in dark blue from head to toe with a shiny brass badge on his chest
-- staring at me. He was holding a palm-size meter up to my arm. A bright
red number 9 glowed at me.
"Ma'am, have you had any radiation treatments lately?" he asked.
"Yes, I had a bone scan today," I replied, numb with my mouth agape.
I flashed back to the morning and the prick of a needle as the
Technetium-99m radioisotopes flowed into my arm to prepare me for a test
that would check whether cancer had metastasized to my bones.
"Don't worry," the hospital technician had said. "You are getting no more
radiation than if you were standing in front of a microwave."
Gullible me. I believed him.
The part about few immediate and no long-term side effects rang true. But
now the policeman was still staring at me intently with the gleam of
suspicion in his eyes.
"You set off the radiation alarm in the train," he said.
Radiation alarm?
"My God, how much of that stuff did they inject into me?" I choked,
horrified.
"No. Don't worry it's not a dangerous level, just enough to set off the
alarm," he reassured me - still staring for what seemed like minutes. "But I
like to let people know ..."
Yeah, right.
He moved away, and I pretended to read the paper. What were my fellow
passengers thinking? That I was carrying some sort of terrorist device? That
I emitted dangerous radioactivity? Some sci-fi TV program had suddenly
become real.
I don't know if anyone moved away from me. I was trying too hard to bury my
head in the paper.
The train pulled up to the Pentagon stop, and the stern officer of the law
moved to the door. Stepping through, he stood on the platform. Still
staring.
Reaching the newsroom, I borrowed my boss's phone to call the hospital. He
definitely moved away from me as he heard the story.
When I finally reached someone in radiology-nuclear medicine to ask how much
of that "stuff" they had injected into my vein, I was told not to worry. It
was the normal amount -- 20 to 25 millicuries.
How long would it stay in my system? A day or two, he said. It has a
half-life of about 6 hours and only about half is immediately absorbed by
the bones, the rest excreted in urine. Drinking lots of water would help get
rid of the rest.
He asked if I wanted a note.
"What?"
If bone scans are given to members of the Secret Service, they are provided
with notes because they set off the radiation alarms at the White House, he
said.
"But this is the first time anyone has said that they set off a radiation
alarm on the Metro."
Great.
I had been caught in the post-Sept. 11 net. I had read reports that the
Metro was testing state-of-the-art security devices to prevent radiation,
biological, chemical or bomb attacks in the cars and stations.
Of course, a call to the Secret Service produced what I expected -- no
official confirmation of similar instances with their officers at the White
House.
As the day wore on, paranoia kicked in. Did the Metro now have biometric
facial scanning set up so that I'm in some sort of database as a possible
suspect in the Homeland battle against terrorism?
How was I going to get home tonight? I was sure to spark another alarm. And
if I announced at the gate that I would set off an alarm because of a bone
scan, would they believe me? No, that would probably provoke an even worse
response.
I debated what to do as the evening wore on. I finally reached a decision.
Knowing I would be telling the world about my experience in writing and
therefore should try the Metro again that night and brave the stares, this
intrepid reporter, and suspected terrorist, took a cab home instead.
Copyright © 2002 United Press International
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