You dropped a what on your huh?

So, Tom came home early today, startling me and Oreo thoroughly. It transpired that this was all due to his having dropped a wall on his foot. So, after a long soaking in the tub, a healthy dose of ibuprofen, and a lot of me going "oh sick dude!" we've gotten far enough along in the recovery process for Tom to decide pictures are in order.
Visit his blog at your own risk.
See, Tom injuries follow a very typical timeline:
1) The injury occurs, usually involving: dropping something; something slipping; some body part brushing against something hot; falling off of something. Occasionally, it's a mixture of two or more of the above.
2) Witnesses rush to his aid, all the while amazed at his prowess at swearing while bleeding, burning, swelling, or all of the above. Seriously. Think drunken sailor. Druken sailor who just got a peg-leg worthy injury. It's quite impressive.
3) Witnesses usually encourage him to seek medical attention. Tom scoffs at their wussiness.
4) If I'm not already there, I get a phone call or he comes home, whichever is more convenient. Usually several hours after the fact. You know, well after I could have done anything useful. If I am there, I usually don't bother adding my voice to the chorus of "dude, go to the hospital" at this point but instead focus on applying pressure to whatever body part is spurting blood and convincing him that he needs to sit still for a few minutes.
5) Depending on his description of the injury (if communicating via phone) or my own personal inspection, *I* encourage him to seek medical attention. Tom scoffs at my wussiness. If he's still able to remain upright and semi-coherent, I usually let him win.
6) I remind Tom that there is no way I can carry his ass any where so, if he needs medical attention, he'd better hurry the hell up and get it, because I don't want to have to drag his unconscious ass down the hallway to the elevator. It'll ruin his clothes. Assuming they weren't ruined in the "incident" or ripped up to make bandages after the "incident" despite the presence of perfectly good, sterile bandages close by.
7) Ice, pain relievers, and antiseptic are provided for the wound. I usually make another attempt at the doctor suggestion. I'm usually rebuffed. The "your ass is heavy and I don't want to pay for an ambulance" argument is repeated. I give up.
8) Time passes.
9) Tom disappears into the bathroom to "doctor" his wound. Usually within 5-10 minutes I am summoned with the words every significant other wants to hear their beloved utter: "Hey Jus, could you bring me my pocket knife?" I've given up trying to prevent the man from performing minor surgery on himself with his pocket knife. I pretty much won my only victories on this front by convincing him to a) stop doing pocket-knife surgery in the living room or kitchen while Oreo is trying to see what's up; and b) sterilize the knife. (Seriously, do you know how freaky it is to look up from reading to see someone with their foot balanced precariously on the edge of a table while they hack at it with a pocket knife?)
10) Some mention is made of "drilling through the nail." I swear - every time. Even when the injury has nothing to do with fingers or toes. The man just has a fondess for drilling through his own nails. I guess it's better than his head. "That would have worked if you hadn't stopped me."
11) To his credit, he usually is fine in a few days. Because he's a manly man. Or too stupid to feel pain. Whatever.

To sum up - he's fine. I'll let y'all know if it gets gangrenous though. Because as soon as he's out of the hospital for that, there's going to be a huge "I freakin' told you so" party and you're all invited. :)