Millimeter Mercury to Foot Water (4 °C)

Clinical medicine is deeply conservative about units because misreadings kill people. Doctors, nurses, and patients worldwide have memorized "120/80 is normal" in mmHg. Converting to kPa (16.0/10.7) would require retraining millions of clinicians and rewriting every guideline. The WHO considered the switch and decided the risk of transcription errors during transition outweighed the elegance of SI compliance. So mmHg stays — likely for decades more.

The top number (systolic) is the peak pressure when the heart contracts and pushes blood into the arteries — typically 90–120 mmHg. The bottom number (diastolic) is the lowest pressure between beats when the heart relaxes — typically 60–80 mmHg. A reading of 140/90 mmHg or above is classified as hypertension. The gap between the two (pulse pressure) also matters: a wide gap above 60 mmHg may signal stiff arteries.

In 1643, Evangelista Torricelli filled a glass tube with mercury, inverted it into a dish of mercury, and watched the column drop to about 760 mm. The empty space above was the first laboratory vacuum. The height of the mercury column became the measurement of atmospheric pressure — 760 mmHg at sea level. Nearly 400 years later, we still use his column height as a pressure unit in medicine and vacuum science.

For all practical purposes, they are identical — 1 torr = 1/760 atm ≈ 133.322 Pa, and 1 mmHg ≈ 133.322 Pa. The difference is about 0.00015% and arises from the torr being defined from the atmosphere while mmHg is defined from mercury density. Medicine uses mmHg; vacuum physics uses torr. They are interchangeable in any real-world measurement.

Intraocular pressure (glaucoma screening): normal is 10–21 mmHg, above 21 is suspicious. Partial pressure of oxygen in arterial blood (PaO₂): normal is 80–100 mmHg. Central venous pressure: 2–6 mmHg. Intracranial pressure: normal below 15 mmHg, dangerous above 20 mmHg. Carbon dioxide in blood (PaCO₂): 35–45 mmHg. The unit pervades clinical monitoring far beyond the blood pressure cuff.

Because every foot of elevation equals exactly 1 ftH₂O of pressure at the tap below. A comfortable shower needs about 20–25 ftH₂O, and a fire hydrant demands 40–60 ftH₂O. So a water tower serving a flat town typically stands 40–60 feet above rooftop level to guarantee adequate pressure during peak demand. Taller buildings in the service area need even more height — or booster pumps — because each story above ground "uses up" about 10 ftH₂O of the tower's gravity-supplied head.

1 ftH₂O = 0.4335 psi. So divide psi by 0.4335 (or multiply by 2.31) to get feet of head. A city water main at 60 psi delivers about 138 ft of head — enough to reach the 12th floor of a building by gravity alone. This 2.31 factor is worth memorising if you work in US plumbing or fire-protection engineering; it pops up in every pipe-sizing calculation.

Because the physical setup is literally vertical — a well pump sits at the bottom of a hole and pushes water up. Saying "the pump needs 150 feet of head" maps directly to the well depth plus the elevation to the pressure tank. Converting to psi (65 psi) loses that physical clarity. Fire-sprinkler designers think the same way: "how high does water need to climb?" is answered in feet, not pounds.

1 ftH₂O = 12 inH₂O, just as 1 foot = 12 inches. Inches of water are used for low-pressure air systems (HVAC ducts at 0.1–4 inH₂O), while feet of water handle higher liquid pressures (municipal water at 40–140 ftH₂O). The two scales cover different engineering domains but share the same underlying physics — pressure from a column of water at 4 °C under standard gravity.

About 1 atmosphere (14.7 psi). Divers learn the "33 feet" rule: every 33 feet of seawater adds 1 atm of pressure. (Fresh water is slightly less dense, so the equivalent is about 34 feet.) At 100 feet, a diver is under roughly 4 atm total — 3 gauge plus 1 atmospheric. This is why recreational dive limits are set at 130 ft (about 5 atm) — beyond that, nitrogen narcosis becomes a serious risk.