Thanks for the pity party, internet friends! Y'all rock!
The rest of the story is that no doctor wanted to see me yesterday, even though I was literally crawling from place to place because any amount of pressure on my foot was excruciating. At 6:00 exactly, as soon as all medical offices closed for the day, it became unbearable. Enter my husband.
After a cursory examination, he determined that my toe was probably broken and dislocated. We could go to the emergency room or (the cheaper option) fly in my brother, who was trained to treat soldiers in Iraq, from California.
"You have to do something." I whimpered.
After extensive research on the condition, including a Yahoo! Answers page and a You Tube video (there really is a You Tube video on relocating (?) a toe), he prepped the table for the procedure.
"Do you want something to bite on?", he asked. Really he did.
"No, but I need a bucket and a cold rag.", I replied, for I throw up over any little thing.
Snap, crack, pop.
"Well, that helped, but I don't think it's all the way in."
So he tried again.
The last attempt had me employing every natural-childbirth-pain-management technique I could recall.
There didn't seem to be much improvement last night, but this morning I can walk and move my toe and it's not quite as crooked as it was yesterday. Yay for my husband. Yay for You Tube.