Martin Kelly; Pioneering craniofacial plastic surgeon who co-founded the charity Facing the World (and husband of Natascha McElhone)
Hyfler/Rosner
Norman Waterhouse
The Guardian,
Monday May 26 2008
Martin Kelly, who has died suddenly of a heart condition at
the age of 43, was a craniofacial plastic surgeon of
enormous talent and dedication whose work won international
recognition. He pioneered techniques that established him as
a leader in the field of facial reconstruction. Not for
nothing was he referred to as the king of rhinoplasty.
However, newspaper stories concentrated on his celebrity
clients, and so tended to overlook the more serious work
that he carried out for the National Health Service and
Facing the World, the charity that he and I founded.
His qualities first became apparent some 20 years ago, when,
as a medical student, he came up after a lecture to say that
he intended to pursue a career in plastic surgery. It was
the first time I experienced Martin's resolve. He always did
what he said he would do, and to an almost impossibly high
standard.
Much later, during a break in a medical conference in Nice,
I noted in the distance along the Promenade des Anglais the
technique of an approaching Rollerblader. It turned out to
be Martin: if there were things that he could not do well, I
was not aware of them.
Martin was regarded as the outstanding trainee of his
generation at St Bartholomew's hospital, London, graduating
in medicine in 1989; he went on to learn reconstructive
plastic surgery in London. After winning a scholarship, he
spent two years in New York researching into microsurgery.
Later, he spent a year in Paris working with one of the
acknowledged, if unconventional, pioneers of facial
reconstruction, Darina Krastinova.
In 2001, he joined me at the craniofacial plastic surgery
unit at the Chelsea and Westminster hospital as a
consultant. He was also appointed to the Royal Marsden,
where he reconstructed the faces of patients after cancer
surgery.
Martin combined a wealth of theoretical knowledge with a
mature judgment. He combined three key abilities: a highly
developed eye for the aesthetic, a willingness to plan
meticulously, and the technical skill to achieve outstanding
results consistently, even for the most challenging clinical
problems. Those who worked with Martin in multidisciplinary
teams were inspired by what could be achieved. He made us
all want to be better surgeons by using his standards as a
benchmark.
Patients liked him and trusted him because of his calm and
reassuring bedside manner, leavened by his personal charm
and an understated but well-developed sense of humour. In
the field of teaching and research, he was inspirational and
his lectures were renowned for their clarity and style. A
presentation earlier this month to the American Society of
Aesthetic Plastic Surgery in San Diego was greeted with
adulation by fellow practitioners.
He and I travelled widely to developing countries to offer
our services to those without access to medical care. It was
while Martin was working in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan,
operating in a theatre with a shell hole in the wall, that
he was introduced to a four-year-old Afghan girl, called
Hadisa, who had a devastating congenital facial deformity.
We realised that such children had no prospect of
first-class treatment in their own countries, and so in 2002
formed Facing the World. "We have to give something back,"
said Martin in explaining why he expended so much time and
energy on the project. More than 30 children from around the
world have since benefited from treatment by the charity, a
testament to Martin's drive, determination and compassion.
He was born in London, the son of Bernard Hirigoyen, a
French industrialist from a Basque background, and Diane
Kelly, a member of an illustrious Irish family. He spent his
early years in France until his parents separated. His
redoubtable mother then brought him and his four sisters to
London.
He attended Winchester college before going to Bart's. Once
he became a consultant at Chelsea and Westminster, he
dropped the Hirigoyen in favour of Kelly because he said his
patients had difficulty saying and spelling the name.
In 1998 he married the actor Natascha McElhone, and they had
two sons, Theodore, eight, and Otis, five. She is also
pregnant with their third child, jokingly referred to by
Martin as K3.
Roy Greenslade writes: To describe Martin as a brilliant
surgeon, as he undoubtedly was, is to overlook the panoply
of talents he possessed. I should declare a partiality. He
was the husband of my stepdaughter Natascha, making me his
stepfather-in-law, and I found Martin to be the most rounded
human being I have ever known: he played every role in his
all-too-short life with an uncompromising passion.
His dedication to the act of healing was unparalleled. He
once showed me computer images that illustrated, step by
step, how he had rebuilt the nose of a man who had it sliced
off by a sword.
The work that gave him the greatest satisfaction was for
Facing the World, but it would be wrong to see him as a
do-gooder. His undoubted compassion was informed by a
hard-headed and practical approach. He loved his work, not
for itself, but for what it could achieve. To that end, he
pushed himself very hard indeed, ceaselessly seeking to
attain the highest possible standards. Indeed, that was how
he lived every facet of his life.
Aside from surgery, Martin could have made his way in other
fields too. He was a painter good enough to have been
exhibited, an accomplished musician and a superb all-round
sportsman who played a fierce game of tennis, rode fast and
skied faster. Another friend nicknamed this renaissance man
"Il Maestro".
Martin was both modest and shy, which people often mistook
for aloofness. In all his activities, as with medicine, he
was a perfectionist. I recall him putting up a swing in the
garden of the Wiltshire cottage where he and Natascha were
creating a rural haven for their two sons. It looked just
right to me after his two hours of labour, but the following
week he took it down and started all over again. It had not
been perfect enough.
Though they had first met when Natascha was just 15, they
did not get together until she was in her mid-20s. Theirs
was an all-consuming love affair: each other's best friend,
they dovetailed so well that they never had a single row.
Natascha told me: "I still feel like the luckiest woman
alive, even though he's not here. To have had 10 years of
utter bliss waking up next to someone who made my heart
flutter, I could never have wished for more."
One of her cousins remarked: "It is better to have lived
like a lion for one day than a lamb for a hundred days."
Martin was a lion of a man.
· Martin Bernard Hirigoyen Kelly, surgeon, born May 7 1965;
died May 20 2008
bway...@gmail.com
Natascha McElhone: I can't believe I won't feel his skin any more
By Natascha Mcelhone
Last updated at 9:16 AM on 25th May 2008
Professionally, he transformed lives. Personally, his impact on those
he loved was no less seismic.But four days ago, Martin Kelly, one of
Britain's most celebrated cosmetic surgeons, died.
Without warning, Martin, an apparently fit and healthy 42-year-old,
collapsed in the doorway of his London home. He died of a heart
condition. Martin's work brought him a host of celebrity clients and
he delighted in the precision of his work.
But his true passion was for his NHS patients and the Third World
children with deformed faces whom he treated through the charity
Facing the World. He was about to celebrate his tenth wedding
anniversary with film-star wife Natascha McElhone, 36.
They had two sons - Theo, eight, and Otis, four - and Natascha is
pregnant with their third child. Her heartbreak is beyond measure. But
Natascha's desire to celebrate Martin's life is overpowering. Here, as
she wrote it, is her heartbreaking tribute to the love of her life.
This is near impossible for me. Anything I want to say is from such a
personal perspective and, even though it's no one's business, I do
want the world to know how incredible this man was.
I'm hesitant, also, because we live in a world of superlatives, and
words like 'incredible' have become hollow and meaningless, which is
everything my husband was not.
I know anyone who was in his sphere felt a strange electric current
chase across the room as he entered it. I know he was the love of my
life, the dearest, most exciting and witty friend I have ever had.
I remember once I was asked a question by a journalist: "Who would you
most like to be stuck in a lift with?" I think I was meant to respond
with a name like ‘Einstein’ and I said "Martin Kelly". They said:
"Who’s that?"
"Well, he happens to be my husband, but I promise you, if you met him
you’d also want to be stuck in a lift with him." (Said journalist was
female.) "As well as being gorgeous, he’s the most exciting,
stimulating person I have ever met."
They said that was ridiculous and couldn’t be my answer as no one
would believe it. I agree, it seems implausible that someone I’ve
known since I was 15 still thrills me to the core. He pushed me to do
things I didn’t think I wanted to do. Or at least, I didn’t think I
did until I had tried and was through the hoop of fire and then, of
course, I felt a foot taller, living and breathing at his breakneck
speed.
It seems he had this effect on everyone who was his friend. You were
touched by fire, it scalded sometimes.
I worried about that for my boys. Would he push them too much when
they were up that mountain? I would watch him effortlessly swoosh down
the slope on his snowboard as they struggled on skis to keep up, only
to realise by the last day his methods had triumphed again.
They, of course, were now leading him, fearlessly shooting down black
slopes with him chasing them, grinning from ear to ear, and, yes, even
holding a video camera to capture the triumph of his ‘pups’.
Rightly or wrongly, he wasn’t available to everyone. I think this was
more to do with an inherent shyness than any kind of snobbery. But, as
a result, the treasures he shared with me were for me and me alone -
selfish, I know, but how loved he made those he loved feel. I can’t
begin to describe that feeling.
Martin Kelly
Caring: Martin doing work in the Third World for his charity Facing
The World
I would be on a crowded busy street running an errand or picking up
the boys from school near his hospital and my stomach would do a
somersault at the sight of a man in my peripheral vision. I would
instantly feel shame that my eyes had wandered or my loins been
stirred by another and would quickly turn away, only seconds later to
hear someone laughing and saying: "My darling, you just walked
straight past me!"
I would explain how I thought I’d seen another sexy man and all along
it was him and he would blush like a schoolboy and bury his face in my
neck.
I just can’t believe I won’t feel his skin any more, how is that
possible? I loved and touched him every day, and thank goodness I did.
Bizarrely, we never raised our voices to one another, not a good or a
bad thing – that just didn’t
happen between us.
I can’t believe that that magical, beautiful creature is not here any
more. He was too good to be true. There was never a day when we didn’t
say: "It’s ridiculous how lucky we are, look how blessed our life is."
I frequently felt undeserving of this; he, however, never.
He was so sure of his place in the world and his right to everything
he’d been blessed with, but without ever being complacent about it. I
suppose it was because unlike most of us he never squandered a second
of his life, every breath he took was full to bursting.
I still feel like the luckiest woman alive, even though he’s not here.
To have been given such a love, to have had ten years of utter bliss
waking up next to someone who made my heart flutter, I could never in
my wildest dreams have wished for more than that.
I don’t know why I’m not surprised that his life came to an abrupt
end. I didn’t think, "Why us? Why me?", I just thought, "Thank God
I’ve lived like this thus far. Whatever happens, it was worth every
ounce of pain I’m going through now."
I hope this isn’t nauseating, I know he’s beginning to sound like some
kind of deity, but he was the most unique father, as well. Always
giving our two beautiful ‘pups’ the alternate answer to any question,
stimulating them, provoking them, peeling open their young minds to
drop in magical statistics and facts, facts that I was always ignorant
of.
He hugged, squeezed and kissed them for an hour a day, tumbled about
the floor with them, taught them chess, surfing, drawing, foreign
languages, his version of truth, what it is to risk, to have
integrity, manners – beautiful manly manners – and how to leap into
the unknown at least once a day, because NOT knowing what you might
find was the real gift of life.
I could write about him for the rest of my life. The part that saddens
me most is that, whatever I can try to give my boys, their world for
now has been halved, I cannot become him. All I can hope is that the
seeds have been sown already in their short lives – their gardens will
flourish and I will tend to them assiduously and find any way I can to
fill the gaping crevices.
I know his work has been covered by his colleague and friend Norman
Waterhouse, with whom he co-founded the charity Facing the World.
All I know is that aside from us, his patients came before any
pleasure in his life. In particular, those ones that were brought to
the UK by Facing the World. I hope to be able to carry on the charity
as those children gave him more than they ever took.
That is what made his heart sing, those little faces being put back
together as nature usually intends, that’s where he got his kicks.
Any amount of time and labour was never too much; he did not know how
to do things by halves, he couldn’t.
In fact, that’s my explanation. He lived several lives in what is
usually only half a life – I suppose we’re back to a ‘deity’ again. He
would die again if he read this because, although supremely confident
in his ability, he was modest and understated in everything.
He was the wittiest person I ever met, making me howl with laughter at
some quip even when it was one of those agonising child-induced 5am
wake-ups. Whether there was vomit all over the floor, a fried
computer, cat poo all over his best suit – his first response was to
diffuse the drama with a brilliant joke.
I feel so ill-equipped right now in my sleepless, shocked state to
write anything coherent, but I want to get in there and shout aloud
his name, make sure no one misunderstands him.
I want to celebrate him not only as my love but as a human being whose
lust for living could infect so many people. A surgeon, a healer, a
painter, a musician, a passionate sportsman, his curiosity was
insatiable, exhaustingly so at times. Relentless in his pursuit of
living and discovering.
I hope my sons will never be daunted by the legacy of his spirit but
instead inspired to do exactly what it is they want to do. That was
his philosophy, we read it somewhere once: "Work hard, expect nothing,
celebrate!"
Find this story at www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1021685/Natascha-McElhone-I-believe-I-wont-feel-skin-more.html
© 2008 Associated Newspapers Ltd
Hyfler/Rosner
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The Mail on Sunday
Natascha McElhone: I can't believe I won't feel his skin any
more
By Natascha Mcelhone
I would be on a crowded busy street running an errand or
picking up
the boys from school near his hospital and my stomach would
do a
somersault at the sight of a man in my peripheral vision. I
would
instantly feel shame that my eyes had wandered or my loins
been
stirred by another and would quickly turn away, only seconds
later to
hear someone laughing and saying: "My darling, you just
walked
straight past me!"
I would explain how I thought I’d seen another sexy man and
all along
it was him and he would blush like a schoolboy and bury his
face in my
neck.
Oh, yuck.