My father landed on Omaha Beach on the morning of June 6, 1944 in the first wave, as a Combat Engineer. It was his job to clear the beach of tank traps for tanks which would never arrive. The water was too turbulent that morning and all the tanks sank before reaching the beach. But destroying the traps was not an option anyway, because they were the only thing to hide behind to shield soldiers from incoming machine-gun fire.
There was a nurse from his home state in the surgical prep area. She took pity on him. Throughout the night she rubbed his feet to restore circulation, while moving others ahead of him for surgery. At morning the waiting supply of injured were exhausted, and only my father remained awaiting care. They carried him into the room to begin the amputation, and the Doctor inspected his feet beforehand to decide how much to remove. The Doctor said he saw signs of circulation, and thought it might be alright to wait and see a few more hours. Everyone was exhausted anyway, and my father was in no hurry.