Whereas normal people don't seem to realise that they will die one day, when I was told I had hiv and that it would kill me within ten years (so technically I am dead this month), the pressure was on for me to live out all my dreams.
Did my own sister ever think she might get hit by a bus in the next ten years and therefore would have to get married and give child now? Don't think so. Nope. She never thought of that.
Soon after my first consultation with one consultant in the clinic where I was going to return 6 times a year for the rest of my life (when healthy, more if not healthy presumably - but will they really be able to schedule more visits should that situation arise?), a social worker saw me.
She said "you know, given the diagnostic, perhaps you should put some order in your life. Now may be the time to take that faraway vacation in the sun you always dreamed of..."
And for the next ten years, just to prove them wrong I knew I would have to become a super-healthy super-hero who nobody would ever suspect of living with the virus.
But as we figured soon, the virus that was supposed to cause death by aids failed to convince anyone.