During the assignment, I learned that lesson firsthand. One afternoon at a plant outside St. Petersburg, an engineer grinned and beckoned me over. He pulled back a segment of the floor and revealed a pool of water. There was a wonderful blue glow from a few feet below the surface. “Spent fuel rods–beautiful,” he said with a laugh. I shot my reflection in the water. Julia, my long-suffering companion and translator, came over and told me that her dosimeter had gone off the scale. I continued working for a short period–and then I started to feel really sick. So did Julia. We left as fast as we could. At our hotel I called an old friend and doctor in Britain and left a message for him. I took a bath and felt worse. When I got out of the bath, there were several messages from my friend. Their essence: “I need more details, you idiot. But if you can make it onto a plane, come home–you may need an urgent bone-marrow transplant. If you can’t, then wait till the morning. If you’re alive you will probably be fine.”
The Russians believe vodka can protect you from radiation. Julia and I put the theory to the test. Who knows? Maybe it worked.
