Nuclear Rx: A Little Dose Will Do You

I was radioactive for three days.

It all began with surgical removal of my thyroid gland. The surgery went well, and my internist was optimistic about my prospects.

He predicted that the scar on my neck would be almost invisible in six months, when my big check-up test was due. I asked my doctor what they would do if some thyroid tissue as left. He replied: “We’ll zap it.” He meant with radiation.

I refused to worry too much, especially since I felt so well very soon. The scar began to fade, and there were times when I took my scarf off and didn’t even think about my neck looking bad.

During the six-month check-up, as soon as I heard my doctor telling me there was some problem, “but it isn’t tragic,” I knew I was in for it. He explained that some thyroid tissue was left and had to be removed by radiation. “What kind of tissue?” I asked. “Is it malignant?”

The answer was: “We don’t know.”

The first step in the treatment was a conference with the doctor in charge of the radiological lab. He gave my husband, Chuck, and me a full explanation of the problem and how they were going to solve it. He spent a lot of time with us, gave us an instruction sheet and left the room for us to read it. When he returned, we asked a lot of questions and got thoughtful, careful answers.

We made an appointment for Friday. On the way home I read the direction sheet and found that after I was to drink radioactive iodine I would be radioactive and would have to be isolated.

The doctor had explained that home isolation works better than in a hospital, where it is costly and complex. We realized that we were fortunate to have an extra bedroom and bath, so the isolation would be easy.

The plans were made, and we were ready. Chuck called the lab doctor “The Big Zapper.” I was ready to be zapped .

I went for my radioactive cocktail Friday morning, and it wasn’t as frightening as I thought it would be. I had a long wait, and then I was shown into an inner office. The middle-aged female technician was kind, brisk and efficient all at once. She asked me to sit down, and she put protective pads over my lap and over the small table next to me.

She opened a lead container. From this she removed another lead container. (I knew they were lead because I kept asking questions.) She put on plastic gloves and took a tiny bottle out of the second container. Then she unscrewed the bottle and put a straw in it.

I was getting even more nervous than I was before. I was told to lean over the table and sip on the liquid in the bottle without touching anything. It was slightly salty but not bad-tasting.

I felt embarrassed to be interfering, but at this point my main worry was that there wasn’t very much liquid there and that the technician wasn’t administering it correctly. She checked it and she said that I got it all. I asked, worried: “Such a little bit?”

She said: “That’s all.”

I was really concerned that there wasn’t enough there to do the job. But I told myself that she must know what she’s doing. I was so occupied being a busybody that I forgot my nerves.

Then I got some more directions about safety. I received a few pair of plastic gloves, and I made an appointment with her for Monday morning.

I quickly walked out of the office, feeling no nausea--feeling fine. Everyone opened doors for me so I wouldn’t touch the doorknobs, and then they got out of my way. I walked some distance behind my husband to the car. As instructed, I sat in the far right corner of the back seat. When we got home, I opened the door to get out while wearing my plastic gloves. I closed the door and walked far behind Chuck.

He left the door of the apartment open for me. We had a two-story apartment, so I quickly walked upstairs to the master bedroom, where I was going to be isolated for three days. While I went upstairs, I didn’t touch the banister.

I read, slept and watched television. I recorded the morning’s events (as if I would forget them). I kept wondering what the technician would do when she visited me on Saturday and Sunday. I didn’t even know what time she was coming--not that it mattered.

I had been told that I could eat and drink anything I wanted. Chuck and I had planned ahead for the meals, and he brought my dinner up and set it down outside my bedroom door. After he left, I went to get the meal. I enjoyed it for itself and as a distraction. I marveled at my appetite. It seemed that nothing could spoil it.

After eating, I threw away the disposable dinnerware in a plastic bag in the bathroom. There was one stainless steel knife, which I washed with soap and saved.

On Saturday morning, the technician came with a Geiger counter.

Chuck told her that I had gone straight upstairs when I returned home from the treatment, so she didn’t have to test the downstairs. She came up and tested everything very carefully.

When the technician came near me and the Geiger counter was clicking so furiously, I remarked that I really hadn’t believed that I could be radioactive from drinking such a small amount of fluid, and I hadn’t even been sure that it had worked.

She laughed and said, “It doesn’t take much.” She was right, because the counter was going wild.

The technician (I never did find out her name--she was quite formal) commented that I would have to destroy my toothbrush, so I was glad that I had planned ahead and used an old one. She told me that all the paper plates and things in the plastic bag in the bathroom could probably be disposed of in the garbage. She would let me know after she measured it tomorrow.

She tested the stainless steel knife that I had used and washed, and said it was OK. But, even if it wasn’t, the dishwasher would take care of it.

I guess the only thing that was really radioactive was myself, and I was being careful most of the time. I mentioned to her that I had made a few mistakes. I had gone slightly near my husband once when he brought up my food. She wanted to know if I had touched him.

“No. I didn’t go that close,” I said. She answered that it was all right.

Twice I had been in a hurry to answer the phone. I forgot to put on my plastic gloves, and I covered up the mouthpiece a little late. She tested the phone and said: “It isn’t bad.”

I still had almost two days to go. I asked her when I would no longer be radioactive, and she said, “I don’t know--I’m going to test tomorrow, and then I’ll test you Monday when you come to the office. It’s usually 48 hours; but we’ll be extra careful before we’ll let you go near other people.”

After she left, saying that she would see me tomorrow, I asked Chuck if she had tested him, and he said: “Yes. I’m OK.”

I was busy with all my projects Saturday afternoon, and the time was passing. But I was lonely, and, just because it was difficult to do, I felt like talking to Chuck. We communicated by talking through the closed door or by shouting upstairs and downstairs. Gradually, my door became open.

“If all this radioactivity is so dangerous for everyone else,” I said to Chuck, “what is it doing to me ? Because it’s inside me.”

He tried to calm my fears, but I guess I’m slightly at risk from this radiation. But because it’s doing a job on this tissue near my parathyroids, I guess it’s less risky than to leave it there. Yet, I’m curious as to whether it will damage me. I suppose that if we have a nuclear war, I’d be the first to go.

Things were going along well. I was still in isolation, and Chuck was serving me my meals while I enjoyed a nice vacation.

The technician arrived about noon and checked the same things that she checked Saturday with the Geiger counter. I had to go into the bathroom while she checked the bed, and the counter was still very noisy when it was near me. But she said the reading was much lower.

I was told that I could walk about the house and touch things, but that I would still have to be careful of anything that would touch my urine or saliva.

After the technician left, Chuck and I decided that we would still maintain extreme caution and not take any chances with the radiation. But I finally got to look at my mail, and I had a chance to really take a close look at pictures of my new grandchild, Lisa. Beautiful! I washed my hands twice before I touched the pictures.

On Monday, I was ushered inside from the outer office quickly. I felt like a leper. After I was tested with the Geiger counter, the technician told me that I was no longer radioactive. The lab doctor said that, from what he could see immediately, things seemed all right.

When we left the office, I went to I. Magnin to celebrate. I felt as if I had rejoined the world of the living.

Later, when I spoke to my own doctor about the results, he said they weren’t perfect but that there was nothing to worry about. In six months I would be tested again, and, if necessary, he’d zap me again. I knew that if anything had been really wrong, I would have been tested in two weeks. I was relieved.

The sky seemed bluer. The sun was shining. “You know, Chuck,” I said. “It wasn’t so bad.”