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Wouldn't it be nice if the miracle of weight loss came in a tiny little pill?

I almost had that dream come true this week.

I finally break down and make an appointment to have that yearly exam we women never enjoy. I've been putting it off awhile. I kept thinking that eventually I'd lose my baby fat and not have to explain to my OB why I was still carrying around weight when my baby is entering second grade.

I check in at the front desk and pick up a magazine. Did you know that John F. Kennedy Jr. died in a plane crash? And why didn't anyone tell me that Princess Diana was laid to rest in a beautiful ceremony while the paparazzi faced new scrutiny for their role?

I am finally called back into an exam room where the nurse takes a cursory check of my blood pressure and weight. Guess there's no lying about that particular number now.

Then she pulls a flimsy cloth gown from a cabinet. I look at the pretty floral print on the gown and wonder why they bother using pretty material. It's worn for less time than the evening gowns flouncing down the red carpet in Hollywood. Basic white would make more sense.

The nurse closes the door, and I disrobe. I carefully fold my skirt, smoothing it to remove wrinkles. I spread my T-shirt out on top and hide the rest of my clothes underneath.

Then I wonder why I do that. I took my mother's advice - they're clean, just in case I get in an accident.

I pick up the floral gown and realize that my meandering thoughts have caused me to miss the most important of instructions. Do I leave the opening in the front or the back?

I slide my arms through the sleeves and try to tie the dangling cords of fabric behind my back. I almost make a bow before I drop the tie and have it dangle wide open.

I pull the gown off and turn it around. Now I can tie the stupid cords, but I am certainly going to be tugging and pulling to keep fabric from gaping in all the wrong places. I climb up on the exam table and twist until the gown covers almost everything.

And then I wait.

My feet and palms begin to sweat and then turn clammy.

I wait some more and then hear him enter the exam room next to me.

I decide I have enough time to get down from the exam table and grab another old magazine from the counter. I sift through the options of MD Today, Golf, Money, and Pregnancy and You. I reject all of the choices.

I am in the process of climbing back up onto the exam table when the doctor enters my room.

I scramble to hold my gown together as he reaches his hand out to shake mine.

Do I let go and have the gown go flapping in the wind or ignore his extended hand?

I laugh nervously and tell him I'd better not let go of my gown until I sit down. I rearrange the fabric, but by now he is skimming through my chart. We share small talk about our children and how life has been treating us since my last visit.

I think my exam is almost over when he drops the bombshell that I think will be my miracle.

"Did you know your thyroid is enlarged?" he asks.

I had no idea. It's not one of the things I check out in the morning before I leave the house. He writes orders for blood work and sends me on my way.

A few minutes' research on the Internet, I am thinking that my days of depriving myself of sweets and trudging on a treadmill late at night are over. I am convinced my weight gain is from an underactive thyroid - not a result of my lack of willpower for the past seven years.

I fantasize all night about my new life. Those who thought me lazy will apologize with concern in their eyes. How are you feeling, dear? they'll ask as they rest a gentle hand on my shoulder.

I'm so sorry I misjudged you. Poor thing. Here she has been trying so hard and had to suffer through this, too. Isn't she amazing? Before it's over, I have myself wearing a crown and sitting in a high throne - eating a steaming cinnamon roll dripping with icing.

My fantasy lasts less than 24 hours.

"Your results are all normal."

What lousy news. He could have at least waited until the weekend was over. Where's an unresponsive doctor when you need one?

I'm checking my thyroid every morning in the mirror now. If it gets any bigger, I'm definitely asking for more blood work.

Miracles can happen, you know. One of these days I'm finally going to come down with something that will excuse all this bad behavior.

In the meantime, I guess I'll keep up the diet and exercise.

Maybe that's the real miracle.