Sorry, 911 Is Busy. Call Your Cousin the Dental Assistant

Got a ringing in your ear for the last two days? A wheezing in your chest that won't go away? Forget ChatGPT. Forget WebMD. One message to the group chat and you expect a clear diagnosis. Who cares if your cousin just finished their first semester as a medical assistant. He should know this shit by now. Right?

In any Mexican-American household, when a kid announces their acceptance into any medical program, the entire extended family exhales in collective relief. Finally, someone who can diagnose your mysterious knee pain without charging a copay.

Medical assistant. Dental hygienist. Pharmacy technician. The distinction doesn't matter. Medical school is medical school. In your family, they're all Dr. Whoever, expected to dispense wisdom on everything from suspicious moles to persistent coughs that sound like tuberculosis but are probably just allergies.

One semester into community college and suddenly every birthday party includes a concerned primo pulling up their shirt to show a rash. Every Sunday dinner features an impromptu consultation about whether that headache means brain cancer or dehydration. The family member in scrubs becomes more valuable than the one with the truck, and that's saying something.

Traditional remedies take a backseat when actual medical credentials enter the picture. Vicks VapoRub still makes an appearance, sure, but now it comes with pointed questions about whether it's contraindicated with blood pressure medication. The Sprite and saltine crackers for stomach problems get upgraded to requests for prescription anti-nausea drugs. Te de tila for anxiety suddenly seems insufficient when someone in the family can theoretically prescribe Xanax.

Emergency services lose their appeal entirely. Why call 911 and wait for strangers when your niece just finished her clinical rotation in urgent care? Never mind that she's trained in taking vitals and updating charts. She went to school for something, and that something better include knowing what to do when abuela's blood sugar drops or when your nephew's finger bends the wrong way after a backyard football game.

The specialty becomes irrelevant under family pressure. Orthodontists find themselves evaluating suspicious lumps. Radiologists get cornered about joint pain. Dermatologists are expected to have opinions on digestive issues because medical school covered everything, right? The family operates under the assumption that healthcare knowledge transfers universally, like cooking skills or the ability to fix a carburetor.

Group chats turn into triage centers. A blurry photo of someone's swollen ankle appears at 10 p.m. with the caption "Is this broken?" A description of symptoms that would take a doctor fifteen minutes to unpack gets dumped into the chat with "What should I take?" The family medical professional scrolls through messages about someone's burning urination while eating breakfast.

The liability never crosses anyone's mind. Medical licensing, scope of practice, malpractice insurance—these concepts evaporate in the face of familial obligation. The dental assistant who suggests seeing an actual physician for chest pain gets met with disappointment, as if their two years of training should obviously cover cardiology.

Office hours don't exist. The middle of quinceañera preparations seems like the perfect time to ask about that weird smell coming from an infected toe. Christmas Eve mass provides an excellent opportunity to discuss bowel movements. The family doctor by default learns to keep their professional opinions vague enough to avoid actual responsibility while specific enough to maintain their status as the person who knows things.

Chicken soup still makes appearances, but now it comes with expectations. If the family's medical expert suggests rest and hydration, someone will inevitably ask why they bothered going to school just to recommend what abuelas have been saying for decades. The bar sits impossibly high while simultaneously resting in a ditch.

Someone's primo just got accepted into a phlebotomy program. Those mosquito bites are finally going to be treated with top tier care. Need a blood transfusion? Don't worry, I know somebody.

@Santitos

@salinasmariasantos

Copyright © 2026 Maria Santos Salinas for FRONTeras.