At 73, Dave Whitlow Spends His Tuesdays and Thursdays Holding the Tiniest Babies in the NICU

Every Tuesday and Thursday, while many retirees might be sleeping late, meeting friends for coffee, working in the garden or enjoying a quiet morning at home, 73-year-old Dave Whitlow heads somewhere very different.

He walks into the neonatal intensive care unit at Children’s Hospital of Richmond at VCU in Virginia.

He is not a physician.

He is not a nurse.

He does not perform surgery, adjust medications or make medical decisions.

And most of the babies he visits are not members of his family.

Whitlow is a volunteer cuddler.

For roughly eight years, he has spent two days each week sitting beside some of the hospital’s smallest and most medically fragile patients, gently holding babies who may have entered the world far earlier than expected or who are facing serious medical challenges.

Some are so small that an adult can almost lose sight of their bodies beneath hospital blankets, wires and monitoring equipment.

Some have parents who are able to spend long hours beside them.

Others have mothers and fathers who desperately want to be there but must also manage jobs, other children, transportation, recovery from childbirth and the countless responsibilities that continue outside the hospital walls.

When those parents cannot be present every moment, volunteers like Whitlow can provide something medicine alone cannot manufacture:

A calm voice.

A steady pair of arms.

And the simple reassurance of human presence.

Before Whitlow returns each baby to bed, he has developed a ritual.

He leans close and quietly offers the same six words:

“Grow strong. Grow smart. Grow kind.”

He has repeated those words hundreds of times.

And after more than four decades in government work, raising children and becoming a grandfather, Whitlow says this unusual retirement role has become one of the most meaningful jobs of his life.

“It’s the best gig I’ve ever had,” he told Children’s Hospital of Richmond at VCU.

For a man whose former career required him to think about entire communities, retirement has taught him to focus on something much smaller.

Sometimes, only a few pounds small.

A New Purpose After a Long Career

Before he became known around the hospital for comforting infants, Whitlow spent more than 40 years working as a local government manager.

According to CBS 6/WTVR in Richmond, his career stretched for more than four decades.

It was the kind of profession that demanded broad thinking.

Government managers are concerned with budgets, services, planning, neighborhoods and decisions that can affect thousands of people at once.

Whitlow later contrasted that perspective with what happens when he sits in a NICU chair.

As he explained to Children’s Hospital of Richmond, his previous job required him to consider how decisions might affect an entire community both now and in the future.

In the NICU, his world can shrink to just inches.

There is one baby in his arms.

One tiny hand.

One monitor.

One moment.

He described being fully present there as “spectacular.”

That shift did not happen immediately after retirement.

Whitlow wanted to continue serving his community, so he explored different volunteer opportunities. Reports about his story say he spent time helping at a food bank and walking dogs for an animal shelter.

Both were worthwhile.

But eventually he found the role that felt right.

He became a volunteer in the neonatal intensive care unit.

At first, the idea was intimidating.

NICUs are not ordinary hospital rooms.

They care for newborns who can be extremely premature, critically ill or recovering from significant medical problems. The environment may include incubators, feeding tubes, intravenous lines, respiratory support and machines constantly monitoring vital signs.

According to CBS 6, Whitlow admitted he was initially frightened by the responsibility.

That reaction is understandable.

A healthy full-term newborn already feels tiny in an adult’s arms.

A very premature infant can be dramatically smaller.

Some babies Whitlow has held have weighed less than two pounds.

Yet with training, guidance from nurses and years of experience, his fear gradually gave way to confidence.

Today, hospital staff affectionately refer to him as a kind of “baby whisperer.”

Whitlow, however, gives a simpler explanation.

He pays attention.

Every baby is different.

So he learns what works for each one.

Five Babies, Six Babies, Sometimes Eight

A typical day for Whitlow might involve holding five or six babies.

On a particularly busy day, Children’s Hospital of Richmond says he may comfort around eight.

Over the years, he estimates that he has held more than 500 infants.

That number represents hundreds of individual stories.

Hundreds of families.

Hundreds of children beginning life in circumstances their parents probably never imagined.

Before holding an infant, Whitlow does not simply walk into the unit and pick up a baby.

The work takes place as part of a professional hospital environment.

He speaks with the nurses.

He learns what is happening with the child and whether there is anything specific he needs to know.

He follows infection-control precautions.

Reports about his work describe him putting on protective clothing and gloves and leaving distractions such as his phone outside so that his attention stays on the baby.

Then he sits down.

Sometimes he talks quietly.

Sometimes he holds a tiny hand.

Sometimes he gently strokes a forehead.

Sometimes the most useful thing he can do is simply remain still and allow the baby to rest against him.

There is no dramatic medical intervention.

That is precisely the point.

The physicians and nurses handle the medical treatment.

Whitlow supplies something else.

Time.

When Parents Cannot Be There Every Minute

One of the hardest realities of neonatal intensive care is that a hospital stay can last days, weeks or even months.

Parents may want to remain beside their newborn around the clock, but life can make that impossible.

A mother may still be recovering physically.

A father may need to return to work.

There may be older children at home.

The family may live far from the hospital.

Transportation, finances and childcare can become major challenges.

And even parents who remain at the bedside for extremely long periods eventually need to eat, shower, sleep or step outside.

Whitlow understands that his role is not to replace parents.

He cannot.

Nobody can.

What he can do is help fill some of the quiet spaces when a parent temporarily cannot be there.

According to Children’s Hospital of Richmond, Whitlow also tries to provide reassurance to families.

He does not pretend to be a clinician.

In fact, he is very clear about what he does not do.

He does not discuss medical issues he is not qualified to explain.

Instead, he can offer conversation, calmness and a break from an environment that can otherwise feel overwhelmingly clinical.

A NICU family may spend every day hearing about oxygen levels, feeding progress, weight gain, scans and test results.

Sometimes having someone nearby who is simply present can provide a different kind of support.

Why Human Touch Matters

There is also a broader medical context behind the importance of closeness and nurturing contact for premature babies.

Researchers have spent decades studying developmental care for preterm infants.

One of the best-established practices is kangaroo mother care, which involves sustained skin-to-skin contact—usually between a parent and newborn—combined with other elements of care.

The World Health Organization recommends kangaroo mother care for preterm and low-birth-weight infants and notes evidence that it can improve outcomes.

A major systematic review published in BMJ Global Health, involving more than 15,000 infants across multiple trials, found that kangaroo mother care was associated with lower mortality and a reduced risk of severe infection among premature or low-birth-weight babies.

Research has also linked appropriate nurturing touch and developmental care with benefits such as physiological regulation, bonding and reduced stress.

But an important distinction should be made.

What Whitlow does as a trained hospital volunteer is not necessarily the same intervention as kangaroo mother care.

Kangaroo care usually involves direct skin-to-skin contact and is commonly provided by parents or caregivers under medical guidance.

Volunteer cuddling generally involves holding and soothing appropriately selected infants according to hospital protocols.

The two should not be treated as medically identical.