The Inheritance

Growing up, my grandmother would breeze in and out of our lives. A couple of days, sometimes a week at a time. Most visits would end abruptly — grandma would suddenly disappear without saying goodbye, for no rhyme or reason.

It was no secret she and my mother did not get along. Even at a tender age I realised it didn’t help that grandma called my mother Miranda, when her name was Marinda.

Friends and family always assumed grandma was simply a difficult person. Something I grew up accepting as fact.

I recently made contact with my father’s brother-in-law, now ex, as well as a long-lost cousin. Both relayed stories confirming how difficult she was — with examples to boot.

I’m convinced my grandmother, and my father to a lesser extent, suffered from a similar condition to me.

Turns out he had a soft spot for my father. And my father had a tough life with my grandmother.

How did I not know this.

By the end of lockdown I had walked off close to 15kg. I felt better physically. But I felt exhausted. Fatigued. Spent.

I never had a problem falling asleep anywhere. Now my body was shutting down — accompanied by hangover-type headaches and brain fog. I had no choice in the matter. I would plan my days around the need to sleep. Mostly sleeping in the back of my van. Sometimes in other precarious places.

It became so bad I would rearrange or cancel engagements at the last minute. It was embarrassing. Debilitating. Frustrating.

I began seeking medical advice. Doctors would laugh at me, saying they wished they could sleep anywhere.

An MRI showed anterior spondylolisthesis on L5S1 — not the cause of my fatigue.

A sleep apnea study showed mild apnea — not enough to explain the extent of my problems.

A sports science sleep study showed HRV variability and recommended biofeedback.

My search for answers continued.