STRANGER THAN FICTION: IT'S GONNA RAIN, PAW -- I FEEL IT IN MY KNEES

The arthritis diagnosis was a little depressing, but the Brooke Shields X-ray pose made me feel downright sexy!

The one time my HMO-assigned doctor spends more than 30 seconds with me, it's to deliver some really lousy news.

My knees snap, crackle and pop because the fluid separating the joints is gone. It's called arthritis.

That's the kind of disease usually associated with people who aren't 29 years old. It's bad to be able to predict the weather with your joints before your 30th birthday.

In a way, it is a relief to know what the problem is. I figured Dr. Speedy S. Gonzales would have me in a paper gown and halfway through a pap smear before I was able to spit out that the trouble was in my knees. He's used to seeing me for only the one thing, and I think he's practicing for a new Olympic event -- synchronized patient processing.

But he really latched onto the whole arthritis thing. Felt my knee -- thank heavens I'd shaved -- bent my leg several times, stopped to think for a whole two seconds before scribbling out a prescription for an anti-inflammatory drug.

And he also sent me for X-rays, where I met a really cool technician.

"OK," he said. "I want you to lay on your right side, bend your right knee but lean back on your left elbow."

"All this for an X-ray of my KNEE?" I asked.

"We call it our Brooke Shields pose."

He sent me back to Dr. Gonzales, where I decided to finally make my HMO pay off.

"You think some of this is related to my weight?" I asked.

"Not really," Dr. Gonzales said. "There are a lot of larger people who don't have knee trouble."

I paused. "Well, uh, what I'm getting at here is that if you said my problem was related to my weight, my insurance might pay for it."

He shrugged. "We can give it a whirl."

What a fool's paradise we were in. Of COURSE my HMO wasn't going to consider my 100 pounds of extra fat a contributing factor in my knee trouble. That would make entirely too much sense. But I went to the hospital weight-loss program my doctor recommended, anyway.

That's where I met a slender, friendly dude named Ernie.

Ernie picked up a pencil and a form and asked me lots of questions about my health, my weight over the years and my vices. Then he got down to brass tacks.

"Heidi, let me tell you about our program," he said. He reached into the drawer and pulled out three packets of powder -- labeled chicken, vanilla and chocolate -- and two microwaveable meals. He gave me a same meal, which I later measured. The outer box was 6.5-by-5 inches.

My instinct was to tell Ernie goodbye right then.

But he seemed like a nice enough guy, so I let him go on.

"It's like this, Heidi," he said. Obviously, Ernie attended a sales seminar that encouraged him to use the prospective client's name often. "I don't even think about food. I'd probably forget to even eat if my wife didn't remind me."

Uh oh, Ernie. You've done it now.

"Well, your overweight clients aren't like that, Ern," I said. "We might skip breakfast to make ourselves feel better, but we spend the morning hitting the vending machine and discussing where we'll eat lunch. Then we get home and have our pre-meal -- usually chips or something -- while making our meal-meal. Then we have a little ice cream before bed. So it's not too realistic to tell a large woman to not think about food, huh?"

That's when Ernie nervously gave me the free sample and said he'd be sending me a flier. He'd better be scared -- I think I could have taken him apart and put him back together in 30 seconds.

I've been in the diet game long enough to know that little packets of chicken broth and fat-free shakes don't work. I just have to buckle down and eat the food I know will make me lose weight, thus relieving my knees.

So wish me luck on diet No. 346. It's starting right after I cook and eat all the men as dumb as Ernie.

~Heidi Nieland is a former Southeast Missourian staff writer who lives in Pensacola, Fla.