Dear Secretary Austin,

You have done the American public a disservice, and I’m not talking about your failure to inform your boss that you have prostate cancer. That failure is on you, and how you eventually straighten out your relationship with President Joe Biden is also on you.

My beef is not with how you’ve carried out your duties; indeed, it’s this laywoman’s opinion that you’ve been a good secretary of defense in these perilous times. My beef is that you tried to conceal your cancer diagnosis.

Frankly, it’s beyond me that you thought you could keep secret the fact that you have cancer. It’s also beyond me that you wanted to keep it a secret.

For starters, I shouldn’t have to remind you that you are a very public person. You’re a member of the Cabinet, for God’s sake. You don’t have the luxury of expecting the news media to respect your privacy.

Eventually, word was going to get around — first in whispered rumors about your absences and, eventually, in a confirmation by an official spokesperson. And of course, as you now know, the president was going to be hugely embarrassed when he had to admit he’d had no idea you were sick, much less had had surgery for cancer, after which you’d been hospitalized again with a post-op infection.

Like other bosses, presidents don’t like surprises.

All of that aside, here’s my beef: In trying to keep your cancer a secret, you fed the erroneous but persistent narrative that cancer is something to be ashamed of and afraid of. And that, sooner or later, it’s going to kill you — but only after putting you through brutal chemotherapy and radiation treatments, the side effects of which may make you wish you were dead.

We all have seen encouraging statistics about the efficacy of cancer screenings and the improvements in cancer treatments over the years. We’ve heard news stories like the one by CNN a couple of years ago, which said: “For all cancers combined, the five-year overall survival rate has increased from 49 percent in the mid-1970s to nearly 70 percent from 2011 to 2017, the most recent years for which data is available.”

But for all the encouraging reports about cancer, Americans aren’t just afraid of getting it. We are terrified of getting it.

People like you, Mr. Secretary, can remind us that cancer is far from an automatic death sentence. Your willingness to acknowledge it and to talk about your experience can encourage the rest of us when we or our loved ones are diagnosed with cancer.

I experienced my own powerful and positive shot of reality a few years ago, in a conversation with a young family friend who is a pediatric oncologist.

“How on earth,” I asked, “do you do what you do — treating children with cancer and having to watch some of them die — without being overwhelmed by sadness?”

“It can be sad at times,” he acknowledged. “I’d be lying if I said otherwise. We do lose some patients. But here’s what keeps me doing what I do: Fifty or 60 years ago, cancer killed 80 percent of the children who were diagnosed with it. Today, 80 percent of them survive. Most of the kids we treat will go on to live long and healthy lives.”

My mother was a breast cancer survivor, and I lost a brother to esophageal cancer. Am I worried that I’ll also come down with some form of cancer one day? Yes.

I do what I can do to keep that from happening, including having the appropriate medical screenings. I also look to public figures like you, Mr. Secretary, to send this message to your fellow Americans: If you have cancer, don’t be embarrassed, don’t be afraid and, above all, don’t lose hope.

It’s my wish for you now that you experience a full recovery and that, at some point, you then will be willing to offer your story as a powerful and positive shot of reality for the rest of us.

Frances Coleman is a former editorial page editor of the Mobile Press-Register. Email her at [email protected] and “like” her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/prfrances.