I often work and play with wire, so the intrusion was not a surprise.
As with most splinters I've gotten, I first tried to remove it with a tweezers -- but was unsuccessful. So, I put a Band-Aid on it and got on with my life. I figured it would eventually work its way to the surface and I'd try some do-it-myself surgery again.
It stayed buried.
Most of the time I was unaware of it, but sometimes -- particularly while I was typing -- it hurt like hell.
I ultimately overcame inertia and made an appointment with a plastic surgeon of some renown to have it removed professionally.
Sooooooooo, the doc stitched up his newly created slice and sent me to another place to get X-rays. The technician showed me the digital images, and the wire was very obvious. The tech put the images on the web so the plastic surgeon could see them, and I went back to the surgeon. (My dog was waiting in the car.)
He (doc, not dog) removed my new bandages, removed my new stitches, and after 45 more minutes was pleased to announce that he had found and removed the wire.
It had been a long time since I had any interest in recreational drugs (and back then I never used the evil codeine), but the pain from the surgery was so friggin' bad that I popped pills around the clock.
My damn finger was on fire. The pills tasted bad. Typing was tough. So were lots of other things.
Maybe I was wrong to have surgery. I could have lived with the wire. And, if I left the wire in, it might have provided an education for the future medical student who gets to dissect me. If the wire is removed postmortem, I might not require the codeine.