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Neonatal volunteers put in serious lap time Photo by Bob Pennell Volunteer cuddler Sam Asberry of Medford passes time with 2-month-old Jessica Chancey at Rogue Valley Medical Center. Twenty adults come to the hospital each week to hold babies in the hospital's Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Hospital staff say the cuddling helps the babies put on weight and leave the hospital sooner than they would otherwise. Program helps parents -- amd can shorten preemie's stay By MARK FREEMAN Tiny Jessica Chancey settles comfortably into Sam Asberry's lap, finding his warm arm and soft chest a welcomed break from the sterile hospital ward that is the only home she's known. Born 12 weeks premature and less than 3 pounds, 2-month-old Jessica gets loads of attention from neonatal intensive care nurses and another 10 hours a day of love and nurturing from parents Jay and Angela Chancey. Yet one 90-minute spell between nurse time and parent time Friday is spent as cuddling time with Asberry, whose lap serves as a grandfatherly alternative to a stiff hospital bed. "I just hold them and rock and tell them how special they are, because every child's special," says Asberry, 72, of Medford. "To me, this is a real honor." The special attention from Asberry and other volunteer "cuddlers" is making life a little better for nurses, parents and the tiny patients within the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Medford's Rogue Valley Medical Center. Extra human contact from Asberry and 19 other volunteers in this young RVMC program provides more than just a human touch for infants during short gaps in direct attention from care-givers and parents. Prematurely born infants who are held and cuddled by volunteers appear to put on weight faster, have accelerated neurological development and are discharged sooner now than before the 2-year-old program began. "I truly feel these babies are going home faster and that their parents are happier," says Debbie Williams, a licensed practical nurse at RVMC's neonatal care unit who supervises the cuddlers. "When the parents are happier," she says, "the babies do better." Cuddling, however, is not surrogate parenting. Cuddlers do not change diapers, feed or even pick up the babies. Nurses place the infants in their arms. The cuddlers simply fill in the gaps of attention for nurses and parents like Angela and Jay Chancey, Grants Pass residents who have tried to balance life inside and outside the neonatal intensive care unit since Jessica was born July 13. "They're here when we're not," Angela Chancey says. "Just knowing someone is here taking care of her is really nice." The virtues of cuddling have been known for years, and nurses like Williams have historically carved out portions of their work day to hold these tiny babies. The idea of bringing volunteer baby-holders into the neonatal care equation was championed by local doctor Dave Miller for years. Two years ago, Miller finally received a $3,200 grant from the RVMC Foundation, and the program was born. Would-be cuddlers fill out screening questionnaires and must have up-to-date immunizations and qualify for security badges, Williams says. They take a 12- to 15-hour training course that covers everything from safety and the workings of neonatal intensive care to the rules of confidentiality and dealing with the stress of crying babies, bustling nurses and loads of intimidating equipment hooked up to tiny little bodies. Volunteers sign up for weekly four-hour shifts, where they are the only cuddler among the 12 to 15 infants in intensive care for everything from premature birth to post-birth infections. Volunteers can expect to cuddle up to five babies per shift and are asked to make a six-month commitment. "Everybody wants to hold a baby," Williams says. "But can you hack it?" So far, 20 can and do. One of the first trained cuddlers was Asberry, who has logged 505 cuddle hours over the past 22 months. He first heard of the program in the RVMC newsletter, and the former wholesale lumber salesman with six grown kids saw a chance to continue his lifelong affinity for little ones. Asberry enjoys cuddling so much he tackles two weekly four-hour shifts, often quietly talking to the kids as he rocks away. He says he doesn't have bad moments cuddling. His best moments, though, are when a 4- or 5-pound infant wraps its tiny hands around his finger. "I don't know if it's the love going through the fingers, or what," Asberry says. "Not all the kids will pull your finger." All but two of the hospital's 20 cuddlers are women, and three of every four are seniors. Many sing the same songs or tell the same stories to the neonatal care babies as they did their own children and grandchildren, Williams says. Each one leaves a shift happy. "You could have an absolutely rotten day and then you're in here and holding a baby, and the bad things disappear," Williams says. Little Jessica will likely keep receiving an Asberry cuddle Friday and Sunday afternoons for the near future. Now up to 6 pounds 3 ounces, Jessica likely will finally go home to Grants Pass in a few weeks and never feel the warmth of Asberry's chest again. But another little boy or girl will take her place and hear an honored Asberry tell why he or she is so special. "Find a job you like," Asberry says. "and you never work a day in your life." Mail Tribune Copyright � The Mail Tribune 1999, Medford, Oregon USA