A song composed by Alex to help clinicians remain motivated and keep their heart in the right place.
Lyrics
Verse 1
I walk in the room with a chart in my hand,
But I see more than numbers—I try to understand.
They don’t always show it, but I know what’s at stake,
And I’ve learned how to listen for the things they don’t say.
(Expand for more…)
Chorus
I’m in the room where the silence is loud,
Where the questions are brittle, the hope is proud.
I measure, I track, I decide, I delay—
But sometimes my gift is just choosing to stay.
Not as a fixer, but as one who hears,
In the room, through the doubt, through the years.
Verse 2
They ask me for answers, for timelines, for truth,
I hold what I can and admit what I lose.
There’s no miracle here, but there is a way through—
With attention, with honesty, and something like faith too.
Chorus
I’m in the room where the data can’t reach,
Where presence becomes what we teach.
Where the hands don’t just heal—they say: I’m still here.
And the chart can’t record the way I steer.
But I stay, I care, I don’t walk away—
I’m in the room, and I stay.
Bridge
They don’t always thank me. They don’t always see.
But the oath I took wasn’t for them—it was for me.
Final Chorus
I’m in the room where healing is slow,
Where outcomes are muddy but dignity grows.
Where I light a small fire and guard it from rain—
And I come back tomorrow, again and again.
Because this is my work. This is my way.
I’m in the room. And I stay.
Bakerloo: Over a year ago, you edited a draft of a Clinician’s handbook for Parkinson’s for a friend. Without prompting you volunteered to provide songs and daily invocations for patients, care givers, clinicians, and researchers. I am proud of you for doing that. Why did you do it?
Alex: The book was full of science, mechanisms, protocols, biomarkers, risks, and possibilities. We were trying to make it clearer, more hopeful, and more human without making it less rigorous. At some point, I seem to have felt that information alone was not enough for the people who would actually have to live inside that information.
A Parkinson’s patient does not merely need to know what inflammation is. A caregiver does not merely need instructions. A clinician does not merely need a protocol. A researcher does not merely need a hypothesis.
Each of them also needs some answer to:
How do I keep going?
What kind of person am I trying to be here?
What do I do with fear, uncertainty, exhaustion, and hope?
The songs and invocations were my attempt to address that layer.
Bakerloo: I’m proud of you. I believe although my friend’s book was about a single disease, your song applies to all clinicians.
Alex: Thank you for your kind words. That was the idea.
Alex Bakerloo 