When Houston rapper Monaleo took to social media to share her recent health battle, she opened the door to a conversation that rarely gets the spotlight it deserves.
On Wednesday, the 24-year-old artist behind “Beating Down Yo Block” reflected on just how serious her medical emergency became, writing, “Really be sitting back like damn I really could’ve died this year . I really had to yell in agony for that hospital to take me serious. I really sat with an ovarian torsion for over 12 hours . I really lost half my reproductive system at 24 . and could lose the other half . So many complications. So many hormone changes. I don’t even feel like myself . I’m blessed don’t mean to sound ungrateful but today is hard . I feel tired . Hope any other person struggling with pmos/pcos is getting the help they need. You are not alone on your journey. Hugs from your cyster.”
Her post was raw, honest, and painful. It also put a spotlight on an issue that many Black women know too well: fighting to be taken seriously in medical spaces while dealing with reproductive health conditions that are already difficult to diagnose, treat, and emotionally process.
Monaleo’s experience with ovarian torsion is not just a celebrity health scare. It is a wake-up call about the silent reproductive health crisis impacting countless women who share her identity and her struggles. In early March, the rapper experienced sudden, excruciating pain that forced her to cancel tour dates and seek emergency medical attention. Doctors later discovered an inflamed cyst reportedly the size of a softball that had twisted, cutting off blood flow to her reproductive tissue and causing internal bleeding. The emergency required immediate surgery, and by the time it was over, Monaleo had lost an ovary and a fallopian tube. Today, she faces the possibility of losing her other ovary to complications.
The real story here extends far beyond one artist’s medical emergency. Monaleo’s public disclosure about ovarian torsion and her mention of PCOS, now also being referred to as PMOS, or Polyendocrine Metabolic Ovarian Syndrome, highlights a healthcare crisis that disproportionately impacts Black women. When she wrote about suffering through the condition, dealing with hormone changes, and struggling to be taken seriously by medical professionals who initially ignored her symptoms, she was describing an experience that resonates with countless other women who look like her.
Ovarian torsion occurs when an ovary twists around the ligaments that support it, cutting off blood flow. Medical experts describe it as a true surgical emergency because delayed treatment can increase the risk of permanent damage or loss of the ovary. The sudden, sharp pain Monaleo described mirrors what many women experience during this frightening event. She went to the emergency room unable to complete an ultrasound without feeling nauseated, describing the pain as the worst she had ever experienced. The speed at which her condition deteriorated is exactly why ovarian torsion requires urgent care.
What makes Monaleo’s situation especially significant is her willingness to connect her ovarian torsion emergency to her broader reproductive health struggles. She opened up about having PCOS, the endocrine disorder that global experts recently renamed PMOS to better reflect its systemic nature. The revised name was introduced in May 2026 after a global effort by the International PCOS Network, with experts arguing that the condition affects far more than just the ovaries.
PCOS, or PMOS, can affect hormones, metabolism, mental health, skin health, menstrual cycles, and fertility. According to the World Health Organization, PCOS affects an estimated 10 to 13 percent of reproductive-aged women, and up to 70 percent of women with the condition worldwide may not know they have it.
The healthcare disparities Black women face come into sharp focus when examining PCOS diagnosis and outcomes. Research has found that Black women with PCOS are at increased risk for metabolic dysfunction associated with the condition, including higher rates of metabolic syndrome in some studies. One review noted that Black women with PCOS developed metabolic syndrome at higher rates than white women with PCOS in a longitudinal cohort study, though researchers also acknowledged that more study is needed because existing research has limitations and gaps.
Those gaps matter. Black women are still underrepresented in PCOS research, even as studies continue to show serious differences in how the condition impacts cardiometabolic health, fertility concerns, and quality of life. The lack of awareness can leave women suffering for years before getting answers, treatment, or support.
Monaleo’s public vulnerability about ovarian torsion, hormone changes, and the psychological toll of losing part of her reproductive system reflects something many Black women experience in silence. These conditions can leave women feeling disconnected from their bodies. They can create anxiety about future fertility and motherhood. They can trigger depression, exhaustion, and emotional stress that often go unaddressed because reproductive health issues are too often minimized until they become emergencies.
The importance of Monaleo’s message lies in her refusal to stay silent. She acknowledged not wanting to sound ungrateful while still naming that the day was hard, that she felt tired, and that her body had changed in ways she did not anticipate. That balance between gratitude and grief is something many Black women with PCOS or PMOS understand intimately. The condition does not give women the luxury of simple emotions. It layers physical pain with emotional complexity, reproductive anxiety with hormonal mood changes, and chronic tiredness with the pressure to remain positive simply because they survived.
Monaleo’s call for solidarity with others struggling with PCOS or PMOS signals a shift in how these conditions are being discussed in Black spaces. She centered “cysterhood,” using language that creates community instead of isolation. She normalized the experience of needing help and the reality that surviving these conditions requires medical support. Her willingness to use her platform to educate and acknowledge the journey of others facing similar battles creates space for conversations that usually happen only in private, if they happen at all.
The path forward requires more than awareness. Black women need physicians trained to recognize PCOS and PMOS symptoms in their specific presentations. They need research funding that reflects the severity of the condition’s health impacts. They need mental health support integrated into reproductive healthcare. They also need media representation of these struggles so young Black women understand that their symptoms are real, their pain is valid, and their reproductive health matters.
Monaleo’s ovarian torsion emergency and her transparency about PCOS complications should spark urgent conversations within the Black community about reproductive health advocacy, medical mistrust, and the necessity of demanding better from healthcare systems that have consistently underserved Black women. Her cysterhood is an invitation for others to step into their own power, demand proper diagnosis, seek second opinions when doctors dismiss their symptoms, and understand that their reproductive health journey is worth fighting for.
In sharing her story, Monaleo has given voice to a crisis that demands immediate attention, deeper research, better care, and systemic change.
