If Shakespeare Was an Aging Marathoner

Chronic knee problems recently led me to an orthopedic doctor's examining table. As you can see, the resulting diagnosis of a torn meniscus has left me in a quandary...

If Shakespear Was an Aging Marathoner
(Ronlet's Soliloquy)

To cut or not to cut: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The pangs and Ow! Ow!'s of outrageous torsion,
Or to take arms against a knee of troubles,
And by op’rating end them?
To cut: to scope;No more; and by a scope to say we end
The knee-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That joint is heir to, 'tis an inflammation
Of whose pain I'd be rid. To cut, to scope;
To jog: perchance to run: ay, there's the rub;
For in that slice of knife what runs may come
When we have suffered through arthritic toil,
Must give us pause: there's the prospect
To de-fray cartilage by so long knife;
For who would bear the pops and tweaks of mine,
Marathoner's gimp, the sore man's hobbled gait,
The pangs of patellar grate, the knee's decay,
The consequence of off-days and the spurns
Of fellow runners, ahead of me they wait,
When he himself might his knee wellness make
With an incision? Who would fartleks bear,
To grunt and sweat during a weary run,
But that the dread of something after knife,
The undiscover'd country from whose paths
Some runners return, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those aches we have
Than run with others that we know not of?
Thus new science does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of my meniscus
Tho’ sicklied o'er with the tear of running fraught,
And re-built knees of great strength and speed
With this regard their footfalls turn awry;
I choose the lame reaction.