CornerShot

Years ago, as my anesthesiologist was wheeling me into the operating room for surgery, he asked me what music I would like to hear in the room.

I had always worked very long hours as a secretary — sometimes for wonderful bosses; sometimes for not-so-wonderful bosses.

When I would get home from work, I would unwind by lying on my sofa and listening to Glenn Gould playing Bach’s “Goldberg Variations.”

So when Dr. Thompson asked me what I’d like to hear, I said I’d like to hear Glenn Gould playing Bach’s “Goldberg Variations.”

To which he said: “That’s my very favorite music!”

Mind you, Dr. Thompson had only seen me while I was in a supine position. I never talked with him after I had my surgery.

Fast forward 13 years.

I was in a grocery store talking with a friend and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man looking at me. But I was engrossed in conversation and didn’t pay much attention.

A few minutes later, I ran into this man. He stopped me and said: “Excuse me — I can’t remember your name — but aren’t you the lady who wanted to hear ‘The Goldberg Variations?’ ”

It was Dr. Thompson.

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