It is a matter of undisputed fact that breaking a toe is the most painful thing a mortal can experience in this life. 
The physical discomfort of it all is enough — the broken bone, the horrible contusions, the sheared toenails that stem from the broken toe, but the sheer humiliation of breaking a toe is the kicker: you are lying on the ground
screaming in pain stoically accepting the pain in a manly way and nobody gives a flying fart about it. To the dreary world, you have broken something insignificant and are a big baby total stud, and not a single person cares about you; in fact you are a bit of a nuisance because it looks like you are making a big deal out of something that is only slightly worse than a hangnail and can you please move out of the way. You have descended below all things, but in a fairly useless way.
Indeed, as the hymn sings: in the secret heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can’t see. Except that the eye can see it; it looks like a black-blue swollen toe. As I sit at work elevating my ridiculous foot, which I have wrapped in an incredibly stylish velcro-strapped surgical shoe, I realize that I have a little more compassion now for people who suffer from the little things. A friend broke a finger a few weeks ago; a co-worker has been fighting a cough for weeks; my daughter has a wiggly and painful front tooth. This is suffering not to be discounted, even though it’s SO EASY to discount it all. I suffer from a lot of flaws and temptations, but this is one I rarely withstand: to refuse to take the suffering of others seriously, especially if their pain doesn’t come from something big and dramatic. I’m no Buddhist but I do respect the concept of compassion, specifically that all-encompassing compassion that becomes possible to believe in and comprehend when we are willing to confront the illusion of separation between us. I’m not willing to fully consider the suffering of others because they are not connected to me, they are not part of myself, while at the same time the immensity of my own pain  is completely invisible to others. I rely on this separation as a way of preserving my day-to-day comfort as I drive my SUV to work, then to Costco, then back home for movie night. If I ever started to consider the suffering of others with the same degree of focus as my own, I’d be paralyzed and no longer able to enjoy all these things.
My 6-year-old son is made of better stuff than me in that respect. When I hurt my foot I sat on the couch, holding the toe, testing how I could move it and wincing in pain. He came up to me and gently put his hand on my leg. “It’ll be alright Daddy,” he said softly. “It hurts right now but you will feel better soon, I promise.” I could hear my own words echoed back at me from times when I’d comforted him with a scrape or a bruise. Then he asked me if he could give me a blessing on my foot: “a special prayer,” he called it. I told him that I would really like it if he would give me that blessing. My boy knelt down on the floor next to me, folded his arms and bowed his head, and offered up a soft, heartfelt prayer to his Father in Heaven that my toe would feel better and that I would be able to play with him again soon. Afterwards he looked up at me expectantly and asked if I was feeling better.I was.
 You hear a lot of noise about bone cancer, gonorrhea, crucifixions etc. but I read this toe fact somewhere on the internet and have just a good feeling in my heart that it’s true.
 POSSIBLY. There are lots of terrible things about breaking a toe and I hate to force the reader to choose among them.
 There is possibly a Dragonball Z storyline to the contrary.
 She didn’t believe that I’d broken my toe and made me sit in my chair until everyone had finished dinner, rather than letting me go to ice that sucker. Theory: even if she’d believed me she still wouldn’t have let me go.
 See note 1.
 I suspect that this has begun to happen to Ronan, but fortunately for all of us he started off far more crusty than most.