It's kind of a silent disease. When you look at him, you wouldn't know he was sick.
In Kamloops this Sunday, hundreds of people will gather not merely to walk, but to make visible what illness so often conceals. The Kidney Walk at MacDonald Park draws together those who have survived the long wait for a donor, those still enduring it, and those who simply refuse to let others endure it alone. It is a reminder that the most silent suffering often requires the loudest community, and that a stranger's generosity can become the turning point of another person's life.
- Kidney disease hides in plain sight — sufferers can appear perfectly healthy while their bodies quietly fail, leaving them dependent on a public that may not know they exist.
- Amanda Rogers and others across the region remain on transplant waiting lists, their lives suspended in uncertainty while they search for a donor who has not yet come forward.
- Ryan Firman's five-month Facebook campaign — and the living donor it eventually found him — proves that public storytelling can be the difference between waiting and surviving.
- More than 500 participants across B.C. and Yukon have registered for this year's walk, organized into roughly 100 teams, channeling personal stakes into collective momentum.
- Funds raised support the Kidney Foundation of Canada's $4.5 million annual research investment, alongside patient services, education, and the practical costs of transplantation.
- The walk's deeper purpose is connection — organizers and participants alike describe it as proof that no one in this journey is truly alone.
Ryan Firman spent five months on Facebook telling his story to strangers, hoping one of them might save his life. Eventually, one did. Approved for a living donor transplant, he returned to ordinary life — but not to silence. This Sunday, he'll walk again through MacDonald Park as part of Kamloops' annual Kidney Walk, an event that has grown into something larger than any single recovery.
The walk runs from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. and has drawn more than 500 registered participants across British Columbia and Yukon this year, organized into about 100 teams. Firman's mother, Susan, has become a steady presence in this community — her Kamloops team raised roughly $30,000 last year. She describes kidney disease as a silent one: when her son was at his sickest, nothing in his appearance gave it away. That invisibility is precisely why events like this matter.
Not everyone has reached the other side of the wait. Amanda Rogers is still searching for a donor, still living with the daily uncertainty of not knowing when her match will come. She is one of many across the region in the same position — watching, hoping, enduring.
The funds raised flow into patient services, advocacy, education, and transplant-related costs. The Kidney Foundation of Canada invested $4.5 million in research last year alone. Dominique Ahadi of the Foundation describes the walk as an act of connection as much as fundraising — a way of telling people that their struggle is witnessed.
For those still waiting, Rogers offers the words she herself has had to live by: don't give up, don't lose hope. Simple words, until you're the one who needs them.
Ryan Firman spent five months running a Facebook campaign before his life changed. He was searching for a kidney donor, and the internet became his lifeline—a place to tell his story to strangers who might become his savior. When the match finally came through, when he was approved for a living donor transplant, the relief was real. Today he's back at work, moving through his days like anyone else. But he hasn't forgotten what it felt like to wait.
This Sunday, Firman will walk again through MacDonald Park in Kamloops, part of an annual ritual that has grown far beyond one man's personal victory. The Kidney Walk, happening from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., has drawn more than 500 registered participants across British Columbia and Yukon this year, organized into roughly 100 teams. It's a fundraiser, yes—but it's also something quieter and more necessary: a gathering of people who understand what it means to live with a disease that nobody can see.
Ryan's mother, Susan Firman, has become a quiet force in this community. Last year, her team in Kamloops brought together about 60 people and raised approximately $30,000. She speaks about kidney disease with the clarity of someone who has watched it up close. "It's kind of a silent disease," she said. "When Ryan was going through it, to look at him you wouldn't know he was sick." That invisibility is part of what makes the walk so important. Kidney failure doesn't announce itself. There are no visible markers, no obvious signs that someone is struggling. Without events like this, the disease stays hidden, and the people living with it stay isolated.
But Firman's story, hopeful as it is, tells only part of the picture. In Kamloops right now, Amanda Rogers is still waiting. She is actively searching for a kidney donor, still hoping that someone will step forward, still living with the uncertainty of not knowing when—or if—her match will come. She is not alone. Across the region, other people are in the same position, checking their phones, telling their stories, waiting for time to move in their favor.
The money raised through the Kidney Walk flows into patient services, advocacy work, educational programs, and the practical costs that come with transplantation. The Kidney Foundation of Canada invested $4.5 million into kidney research last year alone. That money matters. It funds the research that might one day make waiting lists shorter. It supports the people currently in the system, helping them navigate a medical landscape that can feel overwhelming and isolating.
Dominique Ahadi, speaking for the Kidney Foundation, frames the walk as an act of connection. "We encourage people to come out to be part of the Kidney Foundation community, to understand that they're not alone in this journey." That's the real work happening on Sunday—not just the fundraising, though that's crucial, but the simple act of gathering people who share this experience and reminding them that their struggle is witnessed, that their hope matters.
For those still waiting, Rogers has a message born from her own endurance: "Don't give up. Don't lose hope. There's someone out there for you. It's just a matter of time." It's the kind of thing that sounds simple until you're the one waiting. Then it becomes everything.
Notable Quotes
Don't give up. Don't lose hope. There's someone out there for you. It's just a matter of time.— Amanda Rogers, Kamloops resident waiting for a kidney donor
We encourage people to come out to be part of the Kidney Foundation community, to understand that they're not alone in this journey.— Dominique Ahadi, Kidney Foundation of Canada
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a disease that's invisible need such a visible event?
Because invisibility is exactly the problem. People with kidney disease look fine. They go to work, they smile, and nobody knows they're in crisis. Without the walk, without people gathering and talking about it, the disease stays private, shameful almost. The walk makes it public and real.
Ryan's story is a success. But the walk isn't really about celebrating successes, is it?
It's partly that—showing people that transplants work, that there's a path forward. But mostly it's about the people still waiting. Ryan's there to say: I was where you are. I found someone. You can too. It's hope, but it's grounded hope.
Amanda Rogers is still looking. What does that actually feel like, do you think?
It's a kind of limbo. You're sick, but nobody can see it. You're searching, but you're searching for something that can't be advertised like a lost pet. You're dependent on someone else's generosity, someone you've never met. That's a lot to carry alone.
The Kidney Foundation invested $4.5 million in research last year. Does that number feel big or small?
It's real money doing real work. But it's also a reminder of how many people are waiting, how much need there is. The walk raises money, but it also raises something harder to measure—the idea that this community cares, that you're not invisible.
What happens to someone like Amanda if she doesn't find a donor?
She keeps waiting. She stays on dialysis, managing her health as best she can. The walk isn't just about transplants—it's about saying: we see you, we're fighting for you, whether you get a donor tomorrow or in five years.