I don’t think my mom’s doctors, nurses, surgical staff, etc. know that I’m a bipolar drug addict in recovery (albeit 12 years clean). Because I’m the one dealing with them, answering questions, soothing my mom into compliance, and making sure instructions are written down. I’m the sane one. And it’s weird.
Being able to help my parents is a great privilege. It’s the natural order of things, and as someone who used to pilfer painkillers from my mom’s purse, it feels good to instead be doing the normal things a child does for an aging parent. It feels good to be useful. That being said…I hate this.
Being the sane one means that I have to fear a bad episode more than usual–what if one happens right when my mom has to have surgery or something? Mental health aside, what if my back just goes out and I can’t hack it physically? The driving alone is causing pain. Unfortunately, she and her husband refuse to discuss options for other care.
It seems almost inevitable that something will happen. Will it be a back episode so severe that I can’t walk or drive? Will it be a bipolar episode so severe that I gaze at the doctors with a “deer in headlights” expression, unable to communicate or process information? Who appointed me the functional one, and what were they thinking?
In the meantime, I will do my best. And maybe (gasp) reach out for some ideas and support from others experienced in elder care issues. Because I’m soooooo good at asking for help.
Lori Lynne Armstrong 
That’s a hard spot to be in. I’m dreading if it ever happens to me. I think that it would make me spiral into a bipolar episode. I’m hoping my siblings would be able to handle most everything. I feel for you.