I nearly died once, and not to go into details, lying on a hospital bed (gurney's an American word I know, but oh-so-suitable, with reference to gurning, as the whole experience under any circs is likely to be grotesquely ugly) in the Whittington's A&E: yes - it WAS the things I hadn't done that I regretted the most. Namely, at that precise point, since one other possible outcome was lifelong paralysis, becoming a highly paid whore escort lady in my twenties when I still had use of all limbs etc, and thus not only getting plenty of male lustfulness filed away, but also making enough to pay for the lifelong care I might have needed. And thankfully didn't, in the end - at which point Madame Smoochie's Parlour of Sin became rather better left to delusional daydreams - but daft as it sounds, that fact that I'd rather have done something along those lines than not, told its own truth.