Jesus Maria Sanchez Perez, the name my mother gave me. My friends always ask questions like, “Why is your name so long?” or “Why do you have so many names?”. Then again, I never really understood my friends either. Everyday they used to come to my door, asking me to play football or come outside. However, I’ve always been more of an indoors person. Running around, covered in dirt and sweat, it wasn’t very appealing to me. I was always indoors, completing puzzles, building structures, or helping my mother clean.

My mom grows and sells vegetables, while my dad is a professional bullfighter. Neither of these jobs guarantee pay, but we’re still financially stable. My mom started her garden as a hobby, but it became a business after she noticed the lack of vegetable vendors. My dad doesn’t work everyday, just for several events, and the crowd loved him every time. If there was one word to describe him, it would be ‘daredevil’. He is not the type of person to play it safe, no matter what. I’m not sure if he did it for attention, or if it's just his personality. The first time I saw him in action, and the most memorable time, was when I was seven years old. He happened to have a performance on my birthday and gave us tickets. I remember being excited yet anxious at the same time. On my way there, my friends said bullfighting is where people get thrown into a pit, then a bull comes and eats them. I was a naive little kid, so I believed them with little doubt. I was so scared to head inside that my mother had to carry me.

It’s when I finally sat down, I noticed all the things that were going on around me. There were vendors walking in aisles with cardboard boxes full of snacks and drinks. I hated when they walked by my row because their shouting was so loud I felt as if my ears were bleeding. In front of me, in the ring, there were two men walking around with these sticks that had a white pot attached to the bottom of it. They walked in a large circle, the pots on the sticks leaking white powder. When they left, there were two large rings that formed a circular track. Then came two men on horses walking parallel to each other, from one side of the circle ring to the other. Following them were three rows of men, all wearing fancy suits with intricate patterns woven on with gold and silver thread. I asked my mother who these people were, and she told me they were matadors, or bullfighters. The first and third row had four to five people, while the second row had two. What followed these men were even more horses! I thought this pattern would never stop. People were walking out on the ring like water coming out of an open faucet. Eventually, most of the people left, and only a few of the matadors remained.

I sunk in my chair, my legs turned to jelly, I couldn’t utter a word as they released the bull. It stood there at first, slowly inching towards the middle of the circle. Then it bolted towards one of the matadors, so fast you could see the dust cloud behind it. My mother told me, “¡Levántate Jesús! You won’t see your father if you’re on the ground!”. I jumped up on my seat, “Dad?”.

“Yes, yes. Look at him, right there, in blue!”. She was right, he was standing there, directly facing the bull, as if he was challenging it. Waiting anxiously, I could feel the tears accumulating in my eyes, about to downpour. The bull lowers its head, and paws at the dirt. It charged straight at my dad, but he didn’t move an inch. My dad had also lowered his head, likely to mock the bull. My dad waited until the very last moment to dodge, which was his biggest mistake. I shut my eyes as tight as possible, not wanting to see what will become of my dad. My negative thoughts were interrupted by the booming cheers of the audience. I opened my eyes, and… my dad was still alive! He was hit by the bull somewhere around his chest, but I might’ve been the only one to notice. The bull rushed at my dad again, except it only hit the pink cloak in my dad’s hand, the muleta. This went on in a loop, it appeared as if my dad was dancing. Then he started to jab at the bull with these large decorated sticks. These banderillas were thrown like harpoons and stabbed in the back of the bull. The banderillas poked out of the bull and waved as it ran, they looked like porcupine quills. This appeared to only enrage the bull even more as it started running at full speed. However, the constant running and blood loss must’ve taken a toll on its body since it fell shortly after. Another man came and stabbed the bull, chained it to a wagon, and the horses took it away.

I could barely see my dad from where I was sitting, but I could tell he had someone helping him to walk out the ring. Maybe the bull caused more damage than we had thought. My mom and I walk out of the event area, and wait for my dad. He changed out of his traje de luces, and walked towards us with an awkward smile on his face. His coworker came out with him, supporting him as he walked. “Man, he got really lucky. Almost gored to death, we'll see you guys next time” he said casually. We still took him to the hospital, just to make sure the injury wasn’t serious. The doctors said that they could not see any injury, and my dad was going to be fine. Later that night, the bathroom light kept turning on. My dad was vomiting in the toilet at 2:00 AM. My mom didn’t hear anything, and I hesitated on saying something.

The next morning, I was woken up by my mother’s blood-curdling scream. I rush over and ask, “What’s wrong?”. “José wake up please! José!” she says, with tears streaming down. “What’s wrong with dad?”. “He… he isn’t waking up. Come on José, this isn’t funny.” she replies. At this point we’re both panicking and racing to the hospital, still in our nightgowns. The time was around 6:00 AM, on a Sunday. My dad is placed on the hospital gurney, and rushed inside the hospital. Then a nurse comes to escort us to the waiting room. He was pronounced dead at 6:17 AM that Sunday morning at Madrid Memorial Hospital. After performing the autopsy, the doctors discovered that he died from internal bleeding that was not previously detected. We were devastated, and so was our community. I just lost my only dad, and the town just lost their best bullfighter.

I went on to help the medical community in identifying this hidden ailment and others like it. Pursuing my doctorate in medicine, I dedicated my life to inventing technologies that would prevent such things from happening again. Since then I’ve had an obsession with things hidden in the body, things we won’t notice from the exterior. For example, oxygen, water, and especially blood. These substances go unnoticed until they leave the body. Thus, no one knows what happens when they are inside. This is why the invention of the x-ray was so intriguing to me. The x-ray was limited to viewing only the skeletal system, but I felt this technology could do more.