For most, the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) is a high-stakes environment defined by the rhythmic hum of ventilators and the persistent beep of monitors. But for Dave Whitlow, it is a sanctuary where his only job is to provide the one thing medicine cannot manufacture: human touch.
Twice a week, the 73-year-old steps into the NICU at the Children’s Hospital of Richmond at VCU in Virginia, dedicating his Tuesdays and Thursdays to the hospital’s most fragile residents. A volunteer “cuddler” for the past eight years, Whitlow serves on the front lines of emotional support, cradling infants who are quite literally fighting for their lives.
“It’s the best gig I’ve ever had. It just feels right,” Whitlow told CBS 6 News during a shift on Thursday, April 30.
The Art of the Cuddle
Whitlow’s routine is one of clinical precision mixed with grandfatherly warmth. Before he can offer a single embrace, he must undergo a rigorous preparation process—gowning up, donning gloves, and surrendering his phone to the world outside. It is a necessary detachment that allows him to be fully present for the five to eight babies he might hold in a single session.
Once a baby is in his arms, Whitlow’s eyes aren’t just on the child, but on the technology keeping them stable. He meticulously tracks the monitors to ensure every breath and heartbeat remains steady.
“I watch the monitors first to see whether positionally there’s anything to do to improve, but he looks pretty good,” he noted while tending to one patient. “His stats are 100%, so that’s what we’re looking for.”
A Partnership in Care
The role is as much about collaboration as it is about comfort. Before any interaction, Whitlow consults with the nursing staff to understand the unique medical narrative of each bassinet. He wants to know the specifics: the treatments, the hurdles, and the nuances of the care plan.
“I ask the nurse, ‘Tell me. Tell me what this child is receiving. What kind of treatment? Is there anything special I need to know about it?'” he explained.
Despite his current confidence, the retired local government manager admits that his journey into the NICU began with a healthy dose of trepidation. Though he is a father of two and a grandfather of three, the sheer fragility of a premature infant was initially overwhelming.
“I was scared to death because, you know, I’d held—we have two children,” he shared. “They’re grown now and I could hold babies.”
A Final Benediction
For Whitlow, the work is more than just a way to pass the time in retirement; it is an investment in the future of these tiny strangers. Every time he prepares to lay a baby back down, he whispers a three-part blessing that serves as his personal manifesto for the next generation.
“Grow strong, grow smart, grow kind,” he tells them.
It is a simple phrase, but for a man who spends his days anchored in the hope of recovery, it carries the weight of a lifetime. “It’s important to me to think that this is what I want from people in general,” he said.