“This Will Just Take 5 Minutes” – Narrator: It Did Not

Every doctor has said it. Every nurse has heard it. Every patient has doubted it. And every shift has proven it wrong.

“This will just take 5 minutes.”

Those words, casually uttered at the tail end of a long day or the middle of an already chaotic round, have become one of the greatest myths in clinical practice — rivaled only by “you’ll be discharged soon” and “your insurance should cover it.”

If healthcare professionals earned a dollar every time a “5-minute task” exploded into an hour-long ordeal, most of us would be lounging on a tropical beach with excellent Wi-Fi and no pager reception — still waiting for the printer to work.

Let’s unpack why nothing ever truly takes five minutes in medicine, why we keep convincing ourselves otherwise, and why this harmless phrase might be the most deceitful optimism in our day-to-day routines.

The Myth of the 5-Minute Task

It sounds reasonable. Simple. Efficient.

“Let me just finish this note quickly.”

“Just going to do a quick dressing.”

“Just popping in to say hi and check the wound.”

“I’ll hand this form in on my way.”

But medicine rarely behaves like a checklist. Each “5-minute” task is a thread attached to a tangled web of dependencies, system delays, emotional landmines, and clinical uncertainty. Pull one, and the whole day unravels.

Common “Five-Minute” Lies — And What Actually Happens

A. “I’m just going to place a quick cannula.”
Reality:

You can’t find a decent vein.
Tourniquet is missing.
cannula size not available.
Patient flinches and needs calming.
You succeed on the fourth attempt, after bruising both the patient’s vein and your own ego.

Time taken: 27 minutes, plus documentation, plus emotional recovery.

B. “I’ll just discharge the patient.”
Reality:

You open the chart, realize labs are pending.
Pharmacy hasn’t signed off.
Patient needs a med they haven’t started.
Family shows up with questions.
Patient suddenly remembers a new symptom.

Time taken: 52 minutes, a headache, three trips to the printer, and one small existential crisis.

C. “Let me follow up that scan.”
Reality:

Image isn’t uploaded yet.
Radiologist hasn’t reviewed.
Consultant wants more clinical context.
You give it. Twice.
They say: “Looks fine. Just write 'no acute findings'.”

Time taken: 40 minutes — mostly spent listening to Mozart on hold.

D. “I’ll update the family real quick.”
Reality:

They’re unavailable.
Then too available.
Then the wrong relative starts crying.
Then they recount an unrelated trauma from decades ago.
Then someone requests a second opinion.

Time taken: Technically eternal. You leave the conversation 5 years older.

Why Do We Keep Saying It?

Optimism Bias
Doctors are problem-solvers. We thrive on fixing. The illusion of simplicity tricks us into thinking that we can, this time, finish it quickly. Even though history says otherwise.

Internal Guilt
We hate disappointing others. Saying “no” feels like failure. “Just five minutes” becomes a guilt-buffer — an acceptable lie to ourselves and our teammates.

False Sense of Control
That phrase gives the illusion of mastery over your schedule. It feels like you’re maintaining control — until reality claps back.

Peer Pressure
When everyone around you is also overextending themselves, you feel compelled to join the dance. Nobody wants to be the person who says, “Actually, I’ll need 30 minutes.”

The Domino Effect of a 5-Minute Lie

A tiny promise becomes a time sink:

You delay charting.
You miss your break.
The next consult gets pushed.
Your team waits.
Your own list explodes.
The emergency room clogs.
You stay late again.

One innocent “five-minute task” creates a cascade of consequences that stretch into hours, affecting patient care and team dynamics alike.

The Emotional Toll of Time Optimism

It’s not just about logistics — it’s about mental health.

With each miscalculated five-minute sprint:

You feel a growing anxiety.
You blame yourself for the delay.
You snap at colleagues.
You skip lunch.
You lose control of your day.

And at some point, that nagging voice creeps in: “Why am I even doing this anymore?”

Burnout isn’t always a dramatic collapse. Sometimes, it’s just death by a thousand five-minute lies.

“Just 5 Minutes” in Different Specialties

Surgery
“Let me just close.” Translation: You’ll be tying sutures for 45 minutes while simultaneously irrigating, re-clamping, and managing an unexpected bleeder.

Emergency Medicine
“Just need to rule out PE.” That leads to ordering D-dimers, calling radiology, monitoring vitals, negotiating beds, and explaining anticoagulation to the patient and family.

Internal Medicine
“Quick note before handover.” Suddenly you’re writing a discharge epic that includes medication reconciliation, comorbidity management, and social work follow-up.

Pediatrics
“Just weigh the baby.” Cue: crying, dirty diapers, confused parents, and trying to measure a squirming infant while staying cheerful.

Psychiatry
“Just a quick review.” Then the patient reveals past trauma, current suicidal ideation, and a family dynamic so complex it requires a flowchart.

No field is immune. The 5-minute lie is endemic.

The Cultural Problem: Medicine Rewards Busyness

In the hospital hierarchy:

Time pressure = dedication.
Saying “no” = lack of team spirit.
Overwork = a badge of honor.
Slowing down = weakness.

So even when we’re collapsing under the weight of our schedules, we still reach for the comfort of that little phrase — as if it can magically buy us time we don’t have.

How to Break the Five-Minute Curse

A. Be Honest With Yourself
Ask the hard question: “When has this ever taken just five minutes?” If the answer is “never,” don’t lie to yourself.

B. Add Buffer Time
Whatever your estimate is, double it. Triple it, if it’s Friday or involves family updates.

C. Learn to Say “Not Now”
Boundaries matter. “I can do this after the round,” is a complete sentence.

D. Change Your Wording
Try alternatives like:

• “I’ll check what's involved first.”
  
  
• “I'll need a few minutes to do it properly.”
  
  
• “I’ll return when I can give it proper attention.”
  

E. Commit When You Speak
If you promise something, mean it. Consistency builds trust with your team. Vagueness just erodes it.

And Sometimes… Laugh at the Chaos

You’ll still say it. Today, probably. And that’s okay.

Because medicine is ridiculous sometimes. Laugh when:

The “simple consult” becomes a two-hour admission.
The “quick form” needs three countersignatures.
The “short chat” turns into grief counseling.

Laughter won’t fix the problem, but at least it doesn’t waste your time like the printer or the pager.

Final Thought: Time Is Elastic in Medicine

Five minutes in medicine is like Narnia time — it bends reality.

Sometimes an hour flies by in a blink. Other times, a “quick dressing” consumes your whole lunch break.

So next time you’re about to say, “This will only take five minutes,” stop. Think. Tell the truth — at least to yourself.

Because we all know…

Narrator: It did not.